Adrift
by supernaturaldh
Summary: A minor car wreck leads to major repercussions in Sam's world. His ever protective big brother, and his harsh father attempt to help him recover his life. Angst, hurt Sam, hurt Dean, and Daddy John.
1. Chapter 1

Adrift

**By supernaturaldh**

**Summary:**

Seventeen year old Sam is hurt, freezing, and frightened; struggling to survive the night. Confused and alone, his concussed mind thinks no one cares.

**Setting: ** Pre Series.

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own them, but I wished I did.

**Beta: ** Big Thanks to Kokoda2007. She was so helpful, without changing the story, she changed the story. Amazing!

**Chapter 1**

**Wayward Father**

Sam's first aware moment was a solid wave of pain, not the kind of pain that was taken care of with a band aid and a hug. No, this pain was white hot, and radiated down his forehead, into the back of his head. He gasped harshly for air. _It hurt to breath_ . He tugged air slowly into his lungs. He blinked sluggishly attempting to bring his surroundings into focus, his head resting against something smooth. A metallic taste coated his tongue and lips. _Where was he?_ He felt his body shiver and noted the smell of old leather and Dean. _The Impala? _ He struggled to keep his eyes open, as they tugged heavily against his face. He gazed in the darkness, through the spider web of the cracked windshield and blinked. _Was that snow_ ? He struggled to remember what had happened. _Football game… date…snow…. _ His thoughts were fuzzy. His head hurt and he couldn't seem to focus on just one thought. _Upside down? _ His arm was curled beneath his head, his fingers looming out in front of his face at an odd angle. _How strange, how's my arm turned like that?_ He wiggled, pain spiking down his arm to his shoulder, tears rising to his eyes. _Arm hurts, move it_ . He twisted, motivated to release his arm from beneath him. His free hand flailed around, fingers grasping for purchase as he attempted to right himself in the darkness. _Big mistake. _ He fell harshly against the dash, the mirror, and the steering wheel, arm still dangling around his forehead. A low moan escaped from his lips. The nausea rolled over him, as his head pounded, ears ringing loudly. He lay perfectly still. He struggled to catch his breath as the pain overwhelmed him. He wanted to lift his head, but all he could manage was to turn it slightly to the side. _No. No. No. Don't throw up… _ He felt the bile rise up in his throat and roll off his lips, splashing on the gear shift and landing in a puddle below his face. _Dean? _ He drifted, the fog around his mind hovering in closer as his eyes slowly closed. His last conscious thought was of his brother. _Dean?_

_-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

Dean leaned into the refrigerator and gazed around at the contents. His fingers gripped a Bud Light and eased the door shut, eyes darting up to the clock on the kitchen wall. _11:15 p.m., Sam was late. I am so kicking his ass. Maybe he's getting laid._ A snarky grin rose to Dean's lips and he shuffled back to the ratty living room of the three room apartment their Dad had dumped them in three weeks ago. He yanked up the T.V. remote and eyed his cell phone. _He would give Sam ten more minutes. _ His mind wondered two days back, the conversation with his wayward father before he left on this hunt.

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

"_So, when we leaving on this new hunt?" Dean's piercing blue eyes gazed directly at his Dad; fingers busily cleaning the weapons. John Winchester stuffed garments into a duffle on the chair, eyes darting up to Dean and back to his work._

"_You're not." John Winchester offered flatly, "I need you to stay here with Sammy." He looked hastily up and then away from his eldest stern glare. He moved quickly to his weapons bag. _

_Dean's fingers stopped their motions as he glared at his father. _

"_Why?" He questioned, confusion darting across his features. _

"_Listen Dean, Sam's head is not in the game. He wonders off, loses focus. The attitude, I just don't want to deal with it. Not while I'm hunting this thing that killed your mother."_

"_Dad…come-on. He's just a teenager. No different than I was. He likes going with us." Dean dropped the shotgun he was cleaning to his lap, eyes imploring his father to reconsider his opinion. _

"_No Dean, he's different. Sam needs to take things more seriously." John's tone was abrupt, and Dean felt his own anger turning up a notch. _

"_Sammy is a liability….always whining, complaining…." His Dad's words faded down to silence, and Dean looked keenly at his face._

"_What?" Dean furrowed his brow at his Dad's wide eyes. He felt the presence behind him, saw his father's face fall, and whipped his head around to see his younger brother standing in the doorway, eyes moist and large, mouth agape. _

"_Look Sam, I didn't mean…" His father stepped forward, eyes fixated on his youngest, his open hand reaching out toward him._

"_NO, Forget it Dad, I …I understand." Sam whispered as he brushed past his Dad and stomped heavy footed toward the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. _

"_Damn it, Dad." Dean snarled at his father. His concerned eyes followed his brother's hasty exit from the room._

_John rolled his eyes and dug his hand through his messy hair. A pissed off look settled on his face. "He'll get over it." He said abruptly, his fingers grabbing the duffle bag from floor and slinging it to his shoulder. "I'll be back in couple of days. I left 150.00 on the kitchen counter. Watch out for your brother." _

"_Dad…wait." Dean stood, eyes darting from the closed bedroom door and back to his Dad's face. But John was gone, the apartment door slamming shut, his voice echoing behind him, "I'll have my cell phone, call me." _

_Dean released an angry breath, and slammed his hand down against the couch cushion. He was left once again to deal with the aftermath of his fathers harsh words. _

_-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

Since Dean had turned 21, his Dad seemed to stay gone longer and longer on every solo hunt. He left Dean in charge. Strict orders to "take care of Sammy". Dean shrugged, shaking his head. He had looked out for Sam his entire life, taken care of him; he certainly did not need to be told to do it. It was ingrained in his being. It was who he was, what he did. He was also left with cleaning up the verbal abuse that his father dished out to his kid brother on a weekly basis. It pissed him off that his Dad always let words escape from his mouth, before he thought about what he was saying. Dean always caught in the middle, Sam and Dad arguing all the time. Sam's teenage attitude was wearing thin on them all, but Dad's relentless hunt was also a pain in his ass. He knew they needed to rid the world of evil, avenge his mother's death, but the constant bickering between Sam and his Dad was going to drive him nuts.

Dean shook his head, and glanced at the clock again. _Where was Sam?_ It had been a long two days since Dad had left. It had taken Dean four hours to get his kid brother out of the bedroom, another 24 hours to talk about it. Actually, argue about it. A stupid conversation about Dad, hunting, and Sam's attitude. He slumped to the kitchen chair, recalling the harsh words with his brother earlier in evening. He wasn't really angry at Sam, just made that his Dad always created these messes. Why couldn't they just get along? He remembered the pained look on Sam's face, and his own harsh words reverberating in his head.

_Dean heard the front door slam and Sam's school books thud down against the coffee table. He glanced up at his brother, making his grand entrance from school, and rolled his eyes, then settled back to looking at his Guns and Ammo magazine._

_Sam eyed his older brother, and stood for a moment, shuffling uncomfortably. _

_Dean glanced up again. "What?" _

_Sam looked wide eyed at his older brother, then blurted, "Its Friday night….ah…can I borrow the Impala?"_

_Dean raised his head, eyes darting at his little brother. "You, my car, I don't think so. What Sam, you think I don't have a life? It's Friday night." A grin rose on his lips, he so loved messing with his little brother._

"_De...a…n…" Sam whined, abruptly dropping to the couch in an exasperated motion, pleading look rising on his face. _

"_Sammy, why would I loan you my car?" Dean flung the book to the floor, grabbed up the remote, and flipped nonchalantly through TV channels, eyes flickering across to his baby brother. "The Geeks having a book club meeting or something?" Dean grinned._

"_I got a date; okay….I asked a girl to the football game." Sam huffed out, a light red hue adorning the youngest Winchester's cheeks._

"_Wow, Sammy. I can't believe it. Is she cute?" Dean smirked brightly at his little brother._

"_Ye...yeah, she is in my sociology class. Her name is Ethel Murrow." Sam smiled widely, then frowned as Dean began to chuckle. _

"_Ethel?" Sammy…ain't no way you're getting laid by some girl named Ethel." Dean laughed loudly at his own joke, watching as his little brother sulked._

"_You're an ass, just like Dad." Sam stammered out, his lips pursing in an angry glare._

_Dean's laughter died instantly on his lips. He stared at his little brother. "Sam, Dad is not an ass. He just….he takes the hunt seriously, man. Maybe, if you would loose the attitude, take it seriously too, you guys might get along." _

_Sam rolled his eyes. "Attitude, what? You got to be kidding me. Are you taking up for him, Dean? You heard him, he's an ass?" Sam's voice quivered with anger. "Maybe, I don't want to take the hunt seriously; maybe I have something else planned for my life. Maybe, you should too Dean. Don't you want a life?" He stood quickly, stammering as he yanked his books off the table with one hand, eyes flitting to his brother. _

_Dean stood glaring at his little brother, eyebrows arching angrily across his face. "Whatever Sam. You need to grow up." _

_Sam's angry face gawked at his brother, bottom lip trembling slightly with Dean's words. "So… can I take the car or what?"_

_Dean reached into his pocket and flung the car keys at his brother's head. "Put gas in her and be back here by 11:00. Got it?"_

_Sam's hand jerked up and whipped the car keys from the air, as he turned hastily on his sneakers and darted from the room. "Whatever…" he whispered, as he blinked back the moisture that was brimming just below his eyelids._

_Dean heaved a frustrated sigh, brought his hand up to tug through his hair, eyes watching Sam as he moved from the room. He turned to stare blankly at the T.V. Would he ever be able to get his Dad and brother to get along?_

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o _


	2. Chapter 2

Adrift

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 2**

**A Soft Cloud of Nothingness**

Sam's eyelashes fluttered open slowly. He blinked to clear away the haze. _Where was he?_ He tried to concentrate, to figure it out, but nothing came to mind. He felt a slight tremble as the coldness gripped at him and he shuddered. _His head hurt._ His vision wavered and white dots danced in his face. He strained to pull in some air. _Why did it hurt to breath? _ He lay boneless staring up through a cracked windshield. He felt weighed down, heavy. _Where was he? _ Alarm suddenly gripped at his chest. His head bobbled around peering through the darkness. The movements made him nauseous, the smell of sickness permeating his senses, making him gag. He swallowed convulsively, attempting to stave off the bile that was rising to the back of his throat. It didn't work, as he felt the substance spew from his mouth and spray across the window. His eyes burned as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. _He was so cold. _ His forehead fell against the gearshift. _He felt bad. Dean? _ He tugged his good hand up to touch his forehead, feeling the sticky substance that coated the entire left side of his face. _What was that? _ His eyes drifted around slowly, as he watched the snow fall gently against the window. _It looked like a fluffy cloud. He smiled vaguely at the thought, and his eyes fluttered close. He would just sleep for a minute, and then, he could figure this all out. _

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

Dean paced the living room, fingers yanking back the dirty curtain and gazing outside. It had started to snow. _He really wanted his brother home. NOW_ ! He yanked his cell phone from the coffee table, punching in the Sam's direct number. It rang three times, rolling to voice mail. _Pick up your damn phone Sammy. _ He had called his brother's number over and over in the past 30 minutes, only to get voicemail. _It was now 11:45, and still no Sam._ He slapped the phone shut, as anger and grief rolled over him in a wave. _Okay, okay, get a grip Winchester. _ He released a large puff of air as he again moved back the curtain to gaze down the road. _Sammy was probably fine; just fine. . _ He recalled the argument they had earlier, the ugly words he had spoken, and his brother's anger with him. He remembered what his Dad had said, and how hurt his brother had looked when he overheard the harsh words. _He knew his Dad did not mean what he said. He knew Sammy could wear on your nerves, his teenage mouth and attitude pushing Dean over the edge many days. _ He pressed his face up against the glass, and shivered slightly. _It was getting really cold out. Did Sammy have his jacket? God, where was he?_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Somewhere between waking and sleeping, Sam's unconscious mind floated on a soft cloud of nothingness. _He was so cold, why was he so cold? _ A small smile made its way to his lips as memories flashed in his head. _A football game, a smiling girl, a kiss on her front porch. _ Warm and fuzzy thoughts that engulfed his numb body and he sank into their comfort. He heard a ringing in the distance. _He should do something_ . _He couldn't remember what? _ All this confusion was making his head hurt. _Was he supposed to be somewhere? _ The memories danced around just beyond his grasp and he struggled to retain one, recall it, and hold on to it. _Dean…Dean…he was supposed to be with Dean. Where was Dean?_ He brought his fingers up to press against his forehead. _Aw, that hurt._ He glanced at his hand and cringed slightly. _Was that blood? Oh shit, blood, Impala. Car, Wreak, Dean will be pissed..._ Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered where he was. They made a silent trail down his blood-spattered face. He recalled the argument with his brother and how angry he had been. "_Sam, Dad is not an ass. He just….he takes the hunt seriously, man. Maybe, if you would loose the attitude, take it seriously too, you guys might get along." _ The words echoed around in his head and his body shook harshly with unbridled tears. He heaved in a gulp of air, and struggled not to let panic overtake him. _"Whatever. Sam. You need to grow up."_ He stared blankly at the sky, the snow falling lightly against the window. _Dean's not coming. _ He heard his Dad's harsh words' reverberating around in his aching skull,_ "Sammy is a liability….always whining, complaining…." _ He could see the look on his father's face, the disappointment that rested on every word. _Dad's not coming. _ The fear overwhelmed him and he could not catch his breathe. _No one's coming. You aren't worth it. No one's coming. No one's coming. _ The darkness settled around him and he latched onto it. _Air, he needed air_ . His injured body slowly gave up fighting, and he closed his weary eyes.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The ringing of his cell phone made Dean jerk into action. _Sammy?_ He did not even glance at the caller I.D. as he flipped the phone open, words coming out in a huff of air.

"SAMMY?" He yelled in the phone.

"Dean?" John Winchesters voice pierced through the silence, and rushed at Dean. _Not Sam._

"Dad", Dean's voice spiked a squeak as he realized it wasn't Sam on the phone.

"Dean, where's Sam?" John Winchester did not like the tone of his eldest voice, or the way he had yelled Sammy into the phone. _Something was amiss here. _

A large sigh escaped Dean's lips. _Might as well get it over with. _ "He took the Impala to the football game. He was due back here almost an hour ago."

"What? Did you call him?" John's voice boomed through the phone.

"Well duh…why didn't I think of that? Dean's voice was an exaggerated whine as he spouted back to his Dad.

John grimaced; he could see his 21 year olds son's eyes rolling as if he were standing right next to him. "Don't take that smartass tone with me Dean Winchester. Where the hell is your brother? It was your job to watch him."

John's words cut like a knife and Dean's attitude diminished quickly. "I can't get him to pick up. I was just going to look for him."

"How the hell you going looking? He's got the car? I'm in the truck?" John's curiosity peaked.

"Dad, come on, I can get a car." Dean could hear his Dad's weary sigh through the phone. _Guess he didn't like that idea._

"Dean, don't. Call some of his friends. See if they know where he is. I'm on my way home. Be there in about two hours." Johns tone softened with each word. "And Dean, I'm sure he's fine. So you have my permission to kick his ass when you see him."

Dean gave a light chuckle, "Yes sir." He heard the phone click off, and grabbed his jacket from the chair. _Screw Dad; he was looking for his brother._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John flipped the phone closed; a tight line forming on his lips. _He knew his eldest son, and he knew the odds were against him waiting to find his brother_ . He gripped the steering wheel tightly, praying silently to whom ever was listening that his son was alright. _Sam was going to drive him nuts before he got out of puberty. _ He had not had a good week with his youngest; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had a civil conversation with him. _Sam always pushed him to the limit now. What had happened to the little mop topped boy with wide, trusting eyes? _ A grin rose on his lips. _Sam, Sam, Sam_ . He was his mother's son, and he reminded John of his Mary every day. Sam had been a source of constant questions, curiosity, and enthusiasm since the day he was born. _He did not know why he thought that would change as an adult. _ He smiled. _All things Sam were the glue that held this family together_ . He shook off the memories and floored the gas. He pulled one hand from the wheel and pushed it through his hair, a low whisper coming from his lips, "Come home Sam."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

Adrift

**By supernaturaldh **

**Beta: ** There are not enough words for me to thank my beta - Kokoda2007. Without her, it certainly would not sound this good. She keeps finding the little mistakes I miss, no matter how many times I read it. Great job Kokoda2007!!

**Chapter 3**

**Silence is Deafening**

The edges of reality blurred. The slow grey swirl of oblivion held Sam hostage. Sluggish consciousness encroached on his senses, and he reached his good hand down to fumble with his jacket. _Phone…phone. _ His bloody thumb pressed against the button, and he jerked his numb hand upward and curled the phone to his ear. He heard a distant familiar voice as he fought for control of his unsteady hand. _Why was he shaking? Why couldn't he breath? _ Each gasp of air was agony. His forehead pulled into frown lines as a faint voice grew louder. _Where was he?_ There was one clear thought in is murky head, a natural reaction when he could think of nothing else. _Dean?_

"SAMMY…Can you HEAR ME?" Dean's tone was erratic, riddled with fear as it thundered through the cell phone.

Dean's tenor frightened Sam and he shuddered away from the connection, the movement causing pain to lance throughout his head and chest. It tugged at his bleary mind, giving him sudden coherence, and he leaned his head attentively back toward his brother's voice.

Dean could hear Sam's rasping breath, the shuffling of someone between the moments of dead air. He waited. "SAM", he called out again. His own chest halted as he pulled the 'borrowed' truck to the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, and waited; heart in his throat. He thought he heard a moan, a slight mummer through the darkness. "Sammy?"

"De…? You okay?" His head was foggy; he couldn't seem to think straight. His head was pounding loudly, his voice, a mere whisper.

Dean heard his name, the voice so low, another might have missed it, but he did not. He had been listening to that sound since he was four years old, looking after it, taking care of it, and he latched on to it like a lifeline.

"Sam, am I okay? Jesus Sam, you scared the shit out of me. Where are you?"

The silence was deafening, and Dean's fear upped a notch, his heart thudding frantically in his chest.

"Sammy?" He waited anxiously for some response from his baby brother. Another groan. _Stay calm Dean._

"Sammy? Answer me, or I will kick your ass." _Probably not, but he needed Sam to focus, talk to him._

Sam swallowed hard as his body shivered uncontrollably. "Sn…s...snow...De...a...n. C…car… No one's com'n."

Dean could hear the hitching in Sam's voice, the shivering that was coming through the phone line. It was like a punch, a punch of emotion that came flooding through the dead air and slammed into Dean like a freight train. "O_h God, Sammy had wrecked the car and he's hurt. _ "Shhhh….its' okay Sammy. Listen. Okay, listen to me…I'm coming…okay, I'm coming. Where are you?"

"Dean…It hurts." Sam's garbled. "Da...Dad's not com'n…?" He mumbled in his confused state, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly with his sweaty palm, fear gripping him tautly. _Sam was confused, disoriented, slurring._ He quickly started the truck engine and drove slowly down the desolate road toward the High School, phone firmly against his ear. _He had no idea where his brother was, but he was freaking going to find him. _

"I'm coming Sammy……its okay…..Did you go to the football game?" Dean forced calming words from his lips, he wasn't sure if they were for Sam or himself. He squinted into the glare, the snow making it hard to see in the shadows. He gazed down the side of the highway, in the tree line, the distance. _Surely, he would see the Impala off on the side of the road._

"UmmmHmmm…" Sam mumbled.

_Okay, okay. Stay in control._ "Sam, were you on the way home from the game?" Dean asked softly, concern evident in his voice...attempting to keep Sam talking.

"Mmmmm…"

"Did geek boy get a kiss?" He laughed lightly and was greeted by silence, "SAMMY?"

"HEY ….Stay awake kiddo. You hear me? SAMMY?" Dean's tone quickly became a barely controlled panic. "Dammit Sam, you answer me."

"M...Mad…at…m...me?" Sam's voice was low and barely audible, the innocent words making Dean's heart ache. _Sam sounded like the five year old he remembered from so long ago._

"Sammy, no, no, I'm not mad…kiddo, not mad at all." Tears welled in Dean's eyes and he blinked them back. "I'm right here Sammy."

"…Kay…" Sam's voice was faint. "Ccccold."

He couldn't seem to hold his heavy eyelids open any longer, drowsiness tugging at his body. The pain was searing through him. He released a strangled cry. The uncertainty of his thoughts, and the cold, was making it hard to think, he felt dizzy. He let his lids droop shut. He heard his brother's voice, and his eyes fluttered open slightly, but he was to weary to stop the inevitable, and the shadows claimed him.

Sam, its okay. I'm almost there buddy." _Where the hell was there?_ Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel, eyes darting anxiously down the roadway.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John Winchester reached down and flipped the switch for the defroster, pissed that the snow was falling so heavily. _Son of a bitch, this is slowing me down._ He yanked up his cell phone and punched in Sam's direct dial number, listening as it rolled to voice mail. "Sammy, if you get this message, I am so letting your big brother kick your ass kid." He slammed the phone shut, and furrowed his brow in anger. He hit the button again to dial his eldest, and winced when he was greeted with voicemail. _Son of bitch. _ He dumped the phone to the passenger seat, and floored the gas peddle. The rear tires spun on the icy pavement, his eyes straining into the distance as he saw familiar scenery coming into few. _Keep it on the road, Winchester, get to your boys._

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

The rickety truck moved in a slow crawl, Deans' eyes sweeping down both sides of the empty roadway, the brush, the trees, and the snowy ground. _He hadn't seen any cars since he started down this road. The snowfall and the late hour, obviously, keeping everyone at home._ He continued his low murmur of reassurances to his silent kid brother through the phone line, "it's okay, I'm coming, stay awake", as he drove.

Suddenly, he saw something gleaming slightly against the headlights, just ahead and to the right. He eased off the gas, and let the truck slowly curve to the snow bank at the edge of the roadway. The object became clearer as the headlights settled against it. _Oh my god! _ He slammed both feet into the brake as he totally forgot what he was doing, fear clinching at his body. The rickety truck fishtailed slightly then stopped. _The Impala_ . The car rested down an incline, the driver's side squashed against the bottom of a tree and the ground, the passenger side jutting upward, at an odd angle toward the sky. _Oh God, oh God…. Breathe Dean. Breathe_ . The wheels rolled slowly in the cold breeze; a smoky haze hovering above the engine.

Dean's fingers ghosted over the flashlight on the front seat. He grabbed it numbly in his fingers, stuffing it in his coat, as he flung the door open. The door swinging with such force; it sent him scrambling on the frozen roadway, shoes failing to grip against the snowy ground. His hand skidded in front of him and he pushed off the gravel and ice. Adrenaline kicked in at full force, and he bounced over the hood and down the incline, his feet sliding, as he tumbled down the icy bank, shoes crunching in the freshly fallen snow.

"Sam?" he called out as his hand stuffed the phone in his pocket, fingers grappling for the fender of the Impala. His eyes darted around at the damage. _He didn't care, the car was not important, not at all. Where was Sam? _ He made his way toward the front of the crumpled metal, the shattered windshield coming into view; he squinted through the darkness, and quickly yanked the flashlight from his coat.

The impact was breathtaking, and he stuttered in a gasp of air. He could see the spidery broken glass, the dark splatter of blood across it, and the mop top of brown hair that curled against it. "Sam?" He yelled, and then grimaced at his pitch. He gasped as he saw the glassy, unfocused eyes fluttering open slightly, gazing back at him through the shattered glass... "I gotcha Sammy, its okay. I gotcha." He scrambled around to the driver's side, and crouched to the snowy ground.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam shivered uncontrollably as he rested his damp forehead against the windowpane. He vaguely felt something against the side of his face. But he was too tired to pull his hand up to touch it, to tired, to focus and see. He could hear a distant voice, first far away, and garbled, and then closer, right by his face. He attempted to focus on it, but it seemed to be fading in and out. His mind felt heavy, sluggish. _He was so cold._ He was shivering so hard now, gasping. _He couldn't seem to catch his breath. _ He closed his tired eyes, and drifted somewhere between light and dark, suspended on the brink of unconsciousness.

Suddenly, something heavy was wrapped around him, patted up against his neck, and he leaned into its warmth. _It was like home, it smelled like home. He remembered this. _ The feeling pulled at him, tugging him back from the oblivion he had fallen into; he heard a voice, one he remembered, one he trusted, one he knew. _Dean?_

"Sammy, please….Sammy…open your eyes and look at me. Sammy?" _His tone was begging, and he knew it. He was terrified. Sam was hurt, and he was barely holding it together…..Where was the ambulance. Somebody…please._

Sam leaned his head closer into the warmth of his big brother. He wanted to open his eyes, he did, but he was just too tired to try.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean heard the truck before he saw it, but his mind recognized it, knew it. He lifted his head and glanced up, through the snow flakes, the tears that had frozen to his eyelashes. The black Chevy truck was barreling down the roadway. His chest unclenched a notch. _Dad?_ He held his breath, and watched in slow motion, as the large truck skidded past the one he had stolen, and slid sideways into the snow bank.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing this story. Your reviews are what keep me going. **

–**supernaturaldh-**


	4. Chapter 4

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: ** Thanks once again to my beta Kokoda2007. She is doing a great job of reeling me back in and making the story flow!!

**Chapter 4**

**Eyes Full of Emotion**

John vaguely remembered talking with his eldest several days back as he squinted through the snowfall. He knew he had spouted off some random words about his youngest, in his haste to leave them both out of the hunt. _They just didn't understand; he couldn't take the chance on what killed Mary, hurting his boys._ He was angry with himself for letting things, things they didn't understand, come between them. _Mary would be so disappointed in him. _

He shook his mind from its reverie, focusing on the snowy road, the darkness and finding his boys. Suddenly, he saw the crumpled Impala resting awkwardly against the tree first, and then his eyes fell to the rickety old truck parked haphazardly on the highway. He slammed his foot on the brake, and let his truck shimmy on the icy asphalt, then skid to a halt. He only had one thing on his mind. _Get to his boys and make sure his youngest was okay. _

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

The black Chevy shimmed up the highway, then slammed against the side of the edge of the road, snow stuffing up along the framework. Dean watched in awe as his fathers 6'2" frame emerged from the driver's door. He smiled meekly, as he watched John Winchester's large boots slipping and sliding down the snowy slope, toward the wreaked Impala.

Dean leaned down into his brother's hair, whispering soft reassurances. "Sammy, help is coming…I gotcha, kiddo, you're gonna be fine Sam, fine…." Dean's fingers held gently, but firmly, to the bloody scrap of fabric across Sam's forehead. He was watching the kid intently, as his chest struggled to pull in every single breath of air. He prayed he would see those innocent hazel eyes again. _He was scared, more scared than he could remember. _ He continued cooing comforting words in his baby brother's ear, his own thoughts running amuck. _Where the hell was that ambulance? _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John's feet slid out from under his body as he eased sharply to the side of the mangled car, eyes gazing from Dean, to the bundle wrapped in his old leather jacket, in his eldest arms. Dean's wide eyes implored him to do something, to help, and his heart ached.

"Jesus, Dean, has he been awake? He looks shocky." John tugged off his own coat, and quickly laid it across Sam's trembling legs. His own fingers lingered across his youngest jugular, feeling the rapid thumping of Sam's pulse, then brushing his wayward bangs from across his cold forehead. _Okay, he's still with us. _

Dean nodded slowly at his father's words. "Yes…yes sir, he just passed out a few minutes ago, I can't wake him up." The words tumbled out of Dean's lips in a rush of emotion.

John looked from his oldest, to his youngest. _Stay in control John Winchester, keep your game face on. Your boys need you. _ The distant sound of sirens wailed through the silence and John gripped Dean's shoulder in a brief show of support and concern. He quickly stood and glared at the red lights coming up the road.

"Dean, if they ask you. You don't know where the old truck came from. It was parked there when 'we' got here. We were looking for your brother, you came with me. Got it? Dean, you hear me?" John's tone was stern, a direct order that Dean recognized from years of taking them.

"Yes sir." Dean looked knowingly at his Dad, and tugged Sam in closer; his warm breath blowing across his little brother's frosty face, moving his bangs in the breeze. He watched as his normally stoic father, moved back toward the roadway, the ambulance coming into view. _He's such a hard ass, but I see through it all. _ Dean continued to murmur words of comfort in his little brother's unruly hair. He explained what he saw, what was happening, and hoped that Sammy could hear him. "You get to ride in an ambulance, kiddo. Don't be scared, I'm right here. I'll go with you. You're gonna be fine, Sam, just fine." The words continually murmured from his lips as he clutched his brother's limp body and rocked.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The crunch of feet; the whisper of voices, and someone telling him to let his brother go, were echoing around him. Dean recognized the voice of his father and let his eyes dart from Sam's pale features to his Dad's piercing grey eyes.

"The paramedics need to help Sammy. Dean, you gotta move." John's hand now reached down and pried against Dean's arm, forcing him to relinquish his hold on his little brother. He slid back, as two blue clad men slid between him and his brother, forcing him away. His and John's coats flung to the side as the movements increased.

John reached down and grabbed the wayward jackets. He wrapped Dean's over his slumped shoulders, his arm lingering, then hesitantly, pulling his eldest closer beside him. Dean's eyes gazed up from Sam's limp form to his father, misty orbs begging him to do something. Normally, Dean would shrug his Dad off; tell him he wasn't a baby. But, today, he just leaned into his father's arm. An offer of support, of comfort, as they both watched wide eyed at the frantic motions of the medics. He heard his father's voice vaguely answering questions, "his name is Sam, he's seventeen, no, doesn't use drugs…" He stared, eyes fixed on his little brother, watching the hasty movements of the paramedics. Sam was poked, prodded, and placed on a flat backboard, I.V. started in his arm, brace placed around his neck. The gauze was already bloody as it was being wrapped hastily around his head. And then, a blur of motion, running, Sam carried hastily to the ambulance. Dean and John stumbled along behind.

Once Sam was securely inside, one paramedic ran to the driver's door, the other leaned, hand grabbing the door to close it. "We're taking him to Middletown Hospital, you can follow us," he yelled.

John felt the anxiety rolling off his oldest in a large wave. "No, NO…he needs his brother; he needs to ride with him." John pushed Dean forward toward the tense medic, who gave a clipped sympatric smile and let Dean ease past him and up into the ambulance.

"Alright," the young medic heaved, and then tugged the door closed with a thud.

"I'll be right behind, Dean, right behind." John yelled loudly, his voice stern as he nodded at the paramedic. He watched as the ambulance veered out on the icy road, headed back toward town. His truck keys jingled from his pocket as he sprinted toward his Chevy. His mind a mantra of one thought. G_od, if you're up there, then please, please, let my youngest be okay. _

O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The trip to the hospital was a long one for Dean Winchester, his brother never waking as the paramedics continued to monitor him. Dean squeezed Sam's hand tightly in his own, thumb rubbing the underside of his brother's wrist in a comforting motion. He continued to whisper words of assurance to his unconscious sibling. The paramedic watching the elder Winchester as he held tightly to the younger boy; he only hoped the kid would survive the ride to the hospital.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean shuffled from the ambulance, his fingers abruptly tugged away from his brother's cold hand as the gurney pushed through the doors in the emergency room. A scurry of activity occurred around him as doctors and nurses converged on his brother, he was abruptly shoved aside. He stood stoically against the antiseptic wall, unmoving, eyes watching as the doors swung closed, his baby brother fading from his view. An uneasy feeling seattled in his stomach, and he strained to pull in some air. He heard distant voices, activity, but he suddenly felt very alone.

John Winchester stepped hastily through the emergency entrance, his eyes darting around for Dean. He found his eldest standing forlornly in front of the double doors as they swung precariously in front of him. Dean eyes were squinting in confusion, loss of a visual connection with his brother making him seem like a small child.

"Dean?" Johns fingers gripped at his son's jacket as he tugged him gently toward the waiting room chairs. "Sit down, son."

Dean felt the hand tugging him forward, the voice he knew guiding him in the fog toward a chair, and then feeling a push, as he was forced to sit down. He raised his head up, eyes darting to the face of his father. _Dad was here, everything would be okay._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The time seemed to move at a slow crawl, Dean's eyes staring blankly at the clock on the wall. _2:15 a.m., and still no word on Sammy._ His bloodshot orbs gazed around the waiting room. It was empty, except for his Dad, and some old woman, who looked like she had lost her last friend. He struggled to reattach himself to reality, to focus in on his surroundings. _Why hadn't they heard from anyone, what was going on with his kid brother? _ He sighed and glanced across at his father. _His Dad looked misplaced and desperate, his head leaning heavily on his left hand, fingers rubbing across his forehead. _ _He could not remember the last time he saw his Dad look this tormented._ He tugged his hand through his short hair and pulled in a rough breath of air. He saw his Dad's head rise, eyes full of emotion. _Was his Dad crying? _

"You okay, Dean?" John's voice whispered to his son, concerned eyes blinking harshly, and then staring at his eldest.

"I'm okay," Dean croaked out, as he slumped lower in the seat, and stared at the dirty linoleum, eyes fixed on a scuff mark.

John frowned, he saw a lone tear roll down Dean's face and plummet to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

Special Thanks to Kokoda2007, my awesome beta.

**Chapter 5**

**Come Back to Us**

The quick footsteps caused both Winchester heads to rise from staring at the floor, darting up to the swinging emergency doors. Both men stood, knowing this doctor was coming to see them; no one else was left in the waiting room. It was 4:00 a.m., and they had been waiting, not so patiently, for word on Sam, most of the night.

"Mr. Winchester?" The doc's hand reached out and grabbed John's with a firm reassuring grip. "I'm Doctor Bagnio; I've been taking care of your son since he arrived in the emergency room."

"Yes," John's voice stuttered out. He shuffled from one foot to the other, eyes piercing at the young doctor's face.

"Sorry, but we had to get your boy stabilized, before I could come out here and let you know what was going on. Samuel was suffering from hypothermia, blood loss, and a collapsed lung, when he arrived. He received a pint of blood, and has been under a warming blanket since he got here. We had to put in a drainage tube, to get the fluid out of his chest cavity, and then address his lung issue. We have stabilized those conditions. He has a broken arm, wrenched shoulder, various cuts, and contusions, but the thing I am most concerned about is his head wound."

Dean tensed at the doctors words. _Did he say Sam was okay? But? There's always a 'but'. _

"He has a severe concussion from his impact with the windshield. We had to put 36 stitches across his hairline to his ear. Scarring will me minimal."

"Sweet Jesus." John's voice whispered as he eased back down in the chair.

"He's on a ventilator, but that is only temporary, just until his lungs are stronger. He's in a light coma. We're watching his head injury, and I have requested a CT scan again in a couple of hours, just to monitor the swelling."

_Coma? _ Dean's knees buckled, and he felt his wobbly legs giving way. He blinked, attempting to control his blurry vision. _Coma?_

The doctor's hand quickly came to rest on the younger Winchester's shoulder, and he was pushed down to a chair, head shoved between his knees. "You okay? Just take a breath, okay?"

John sat momentarily dazed, and then realized something was going on with his eldest. He reached his hand over, and gave Dean's kneecap a slight squeeze. _It was weak effort at best, but all his confused mind could offer… Coma, ventilator… Sammy… Sam._

Dean heard the doctor saying words as he felt his father's fingers clutch tightly to his kneecap. _Sammy? _ Thoughts jumbled momentarily in his hazy mind.

The doctor's eyes grew concerned, as he eased down across from the two men. _These two looked overwhelmed._ His words softened as he gazed at them. _They certainly needed him to throw them a lifeline_ . "Listen; barring all complications, he will make a full recovery".

He watched as both men relaxed slowly from their tense positions, his words echoing around the empty waiting room. The younger one's color began to come back to his cheeks. Doctor Bagnio smiled. _Samuel was obviously the whole world to these two men. _ "Samuel is young, and strong. Don't get me wrong, he will have a long recovery ahead, but, with the support of his family, I think he will be fine."

_Did he just say Sam would be okay?_ Dean felt the fear slowly ease from his chest, the fog lift from his vision, and he tilted his head to the side, his tired eyes darting to his father. He watched as John's shoulders slumped minutely and they both took console in the doctors encouraging words. _Sammy would be okay. _

"Can we seem him?" Dean's thoughts quickly came into focus. _Sam needed him, he needed Sam._

"Sure, we are putting him in a room right now. He's in ICU, until we wean him off the ventilator." The doctor looked keenly at Dean, and then gave his head a brief 'yes' nod. "While he is unconscious, you need to talk to him, keep him focused on waking up. I'm confident he can hear you." The doctor stood, "The nurse will come and get you when he's settled."

Dean watched as his Dad extended his hand again, gazing up at the doctor. A low whispered 'thank you' rising from his lips.

Dean looked appreciatively at the man that had saved his little brother's life. The young doctor smiled at him and murmured 'you're welcome'. Dean watched as the blue scrubs disappeared behind the swinging doors.

The Winchester's sat silently, gazing into space; the magnitude of the entire evening leaving them drained, total exhaustion beginning to take a hold.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The sun was peeking through the clouds, reflecting across the empty hallways when John and Dean were led down toward Sam's room. The clock in the hallway read 4:52 a.m., and Dean tugged his coat tighter around his body. _He was tired_ . It was a long night, a tense night, one neither he, nor his Dad, wanted to talk about. They had both sat, silently, numbly, for the last 45 minutes letting the doctor's words run rampant in their own heads. The reality of how close they came to losing Sam, the tense words they had exchanged, weighed heavily on them both.

"Your son can have one visitor stay in the room with him at a time. I'm letting you both go in, since neither of you have seen him yet; but after that, only one at a time." The elderly lady smiled at Dean, but he did not have a response, just kept on his steady forward motion toward his kid brother.

John shrugged at the nurse, he knew his eldest was drained, but Dean, relentless big brother that he was, would not be leaving the hospital. _Of that much John was sure. _

"Your son is in room 287, right down here. He is doing well, considering. He is on strong pain medication. I'm the head nurse on this floor right now, so feel free to call me. My name's Wendy….Wendy Pearson." She stopped abruptly in front of the room, fingers grasping the door handle.

"Before you go in, prepare yourselves. Your son was badly banged up. He is on a ventilator, and in a coma." A concerned smile crossed her lips, her eyes gazing at both men. "We want him to show awareness to sounds, voices, and stimulus; that would be our goal. So, like Doctor Bagnio probably told you, talk to him, encourage him to come back to us." The nurse nodded her head toward Sam's room and pushed the door open slowly.

John whispered, "Thank you, Nurse Pearson." As he and Dean bumped each other and scrambled through the doorway, four bloodshot eyes fell silently to the bed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John's face dropped when saw Sam, lying in the large white bed; his long limbs hidden amongst a sea of blankets and machines that whirled around him. His brown bangs cascaded down, across the white bandage covering the stitches on his forehead.

_He looked so freaking young. _ John vaguely moved toward the plastic chair beside the bed, eyes fixed on Sam's face. _He needed a moment, to take all this in, adjust. _ Totally oblivious to his eldest son, he tugged his hand up across his tired eyes, never leaving the face of his youngest. He reached his fingers out to grasp Sam's hand, holding it loosely in his own.

Dean eased around his father, toward the other wall, and made hasty steps to his little brother's side. _He looks so pale lying in the bed_ . He reached his hand down and grabbed Sam's hand in his own, tugging it tightly to his chest. _It made him ache to see his brother like this. _ "Sammy, what have you gotten yourself into?" Dean's tone was light, as he gave his little brother a large smile. "You know kiddo, if you wanted me to pay more attention, all you had to do was say so, little brother." He pulled his other hand up to Sam's forehead and lightly brushed the long bangs away from his face. _He grimaced slightly at the bandage, and the whirling of the ventilator._ He thumbed his fingers through Sam's hair, a comforting motion he had given to Sam his entire life. "You know the car don't look so bad bro, just a little bent up, that's all." He reached his foot over and yanked the other plastic chair across the tile, screeching it along the floor before he abruptly sat down in it. "No one's mad at you Sammy. You hear me? The car's not a big deal." He leaned down close into Sam's face, fingers never leaving his brother's hand. "Dad called Bobby, and he towed it to the salvage yard. Guess I got to fix it, huh?" His face still right up next to Sam's, he continued to talk. "Bet you didn't get past first base with…what was her name? Eloise….Edie…Ethel…yeah, Ethel. Did you bro?"

John became aware of Dean, the voice that was droning on right across the bed. He felt like an intruder on the conversation that Dean was obviously having with his little brother. _He wished he shared as much with Sam as Dean did. His son's were so close it baffled him sometimes. He remembered giving Dean an order at age four, 'Take care of your brother', never realizing that his son would never forget his request. _ He smiled as Dean's words whispered around the antiseptic room, his eyes twinkling across the bed at his eldest. He smiled. _Not to worry, doc. Dean would have no problem talking to his brother continuously, if that's what it took to wake him up. No problem at all. _ John eased slowly back into the chair, eyes fixed on his son's. _He hated to disappoint the nurse, but they wouldn't be going anywhere, either of them, anytime soon._


	6. Chapter 6

** Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 6**

**Hovering on the Edge**

There was a heavy fog surrounding Sam, he was adrift in it, consciousness ebbing off in the distance. He could feel his hand being squeezed. A light rubbing down his arm. He was drawn to it, floated in it, but couldn't grab a hold. Another sound, a soft, murmur, that lingered just out of his reach. He listened, because it was calming, and he took comfort in the constant lull. He wasn't sure where he was, or how he got to be here, but it was soothing. He wanted to pull himself out of this place, toward awareness, but his muddled mind would not cooperate. So, he stayed here, hovering on the edge, until oblivion came again to claim him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John released the fingers of his son's broken arm and laid the cast gently back against the sheets. He stood, stretching his legs, popping his back, and all around moving his weary bones. "Freaking hard ass chairs." He mumbled. He watched as Dean grinned over at him cockily. He looked attentively as his eldest lips formed one word that was spoken curiously, "Coffee?"

John's eyebrows arched up in a V and he smiled back at his fair-haired son, "Coffee…huh….good idea." John eased backwards toward the doorway, eyes darting from Dean, to Sam, and back. "I'll go to Starbucks, we need a good jolt." Dean nodded at his father, and watched him back toward the door until he disappeared from sight, then fixed his eyes back to his brother.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"So, Sammy, you can wake up anytime now, kiddo, anytime at all." Dean smoothed the covers across his little brother's chest, eyes watching as it rose and fell with the motions of the ventilator. "You been sleeping two days now, you lazy bum." _God, he wanted, no needed, Sammy to wake up. _ His brother was so quiet and still that it made him uncomfortable. _This was not Sam, not the Sam he grew up taking care of. Sam was full of energy, constantly moving, busy, talking, talking, and talking. _ He leaned down closer to Sam's chestnut hair, and gently pushed the bangs from his face. "You know, if you wake up, I won't even yell at you about the car, Dad, or anything." His voice quivered with the words, and he struggled to stay in control of his emotions as the moisture rose beneath his lids. "Please Sammy, wake up now."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He felt the fingers sliding through his hair and heard the voice that whispered in his ear. _Please Sammy, wake up now. _ He drifted on the edge of consciousness. _Dean?_ He struggled to pull open his lead laden lids. His lashes fluttered, but he couldn't seem to open his tired eyes. He moaned. _Why was he chocking? Something was chocking him, he couldn't swallow. Dean? _ Panic gripped at his chest and he struggled to get away. His eyes opened to mere cracks as his hands flailed up to grab at the object lodged in his throat. He could hear Dean's frantic words in the distance, but he was unable to respond, still fighting to pull in air. _Help me, Dean, help me_ .

Dean's eyes looked inquisitively, as he watched Sam's lashes fluttering. _Was he waking up? _ He eased in closer and heard a light moan escape from Sam's throat. He watched as the younger man began to struggle, full force, with the ventilator, hands gripping wildly in the air. Monitors started beeping, lights flashing, as Sam continued to fight. _He was going to hurt himself_ . Dean reached his own hands up and clutched his brother's arms harshly against the sheets. Hasty words tumbling from his mouth. "Sammy, calm down. It's okay. Sammy…Sammy. Look at me. Sam, look at me." He saw his brother's wide confused eyes staring blankly at him. "It's okay Sam, it's to help you breath, don't fight it, its okay." Sam's unfocused lids blinked slowly as he continued to gaze at Dean. The energy slowly faded from his movements, his body slumping back against the bed.

Dean continued his murmurings, hands easing off of his grip, but still staying in contact with Sammy. He heard sudden footfalls come thudding in the room. Abrupt orders, as he was pushed aside, a needle inserted into Sam's I.V., and his little brother's struggling ceased altogether, as he gave in to the medication and relaxed.

_Sam was awake. Sam…_

Dean stood silently at the foot of the bed, nervous eyes darting around from one doctor to the other. He watched as words were spoken to his brother, and then the ventilator removed from his throat. Sam gagged, eyes looking blearily around, searching for something, as an oxygen mask was placed across his pale face.

Dean heard a doctor talking to his brother, "Calm down, kid," and he hastily pushed past him, to Sam's line of vision. He eyed the doctor harshly as his hand came down to tug the hair back from Sam's face. "Its okay, Sammy….sh…its okay." He watched as Sam's confused eyes gazed up at him.

Dean didn't notice the doctors leaving, or the door closing behind them. His eyes stayed focused on his little brother's face. Sam's voice shaky and small as he whispered, "Dean, where's Dad?" Air hung in Dean's chest as sudden awareness clutched at him. He yanked his phone from his shirt pocket, punching it one handed, then, whispering shakily "Sam's awake".

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John Winchester's feet pounded against the tile floor as he ran down the hall of the hospital, oblivious to anyone in his way, he moved at a frantic pace. _His boy was awake, his baby. _ He bodily pushed the door open and stumbled into the room, eyes dashing from Dean to his youngest.

Dean was standing over his brother, tender eyes looking intently into his face, words still murmuring from his lips. "It's okay, I gotcha, you're fine Sammy, look Dad's here."

John stepped quickly up and looked down at his boy. His hand came down and rubbed against Sam's wrist, against his long fingers. He looked curiously at his son's features. Although, Sam was awake, he looked confused, disoriented, and lost. He squinted across the bed at Dean, whose eyes were damp and shining, and then back down at Sam. He no longer saw his seventeen year old son lying in the bed, but the five year old 'Sammy' who only wanted his Dad. The unconscious words escaped from his lips, without even a thought. "It's okay Sammy, Daddy's here."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John watched as Sam seemed to be struggling with his new reality. Confusion and pain etched on his young face. "He just took a hard knock on the head, Dean," he offered, "I've seen worse than this. He's fine, just needs to get reoriented." He eased down into the chair, hand still attached to Sam's fingers.

Dean's surprised eyes fell to his father. _Not sure he agreed with his Dad. _ Sam seemed really out of it, disoriented to him. "Sammy, talk to me kiddo. What hurts?" Dean whispered, fingers still traveling through Sam's hair. Sam moved his head to the side, pushing it harshly against the pillow, stubbornly into Dean's hand. A low whimper eased from his lips. "'ead".

Dean hesitated a moment, then abruptly moved his finger up and punched the call button. _He didn't like this._ "I want the doctor to check him out."

"Deeeaaan…." John rolled his eyes.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean paced across the room and back to the empty bed. He plopped down haphazardly in the hard white chair, eyes darting across to his father. John sat, slumped in the other chair, eyes gazing at the dirty linoleum, face intent in thought, running through his list of things to do. _If he left tomorrow he could join up with Joshua, get back to hunting the damn yellow eyed demon. Need to get with Bobby about the Impala. Need to…._

"You think he's okay?"

Dean's voice broke his concentration. "Huh?" John's head rose, his eyes flitting over to Dean. "I'm sure he's fine son, just fine. You're overreacting. He hit his head, that's all."

John's face drifted back to his thoughts, and Dean shuffled his boots against the tile, eyeing the scuff marks he was making appear on the dirty floor. A commotion at the doorway caught their attention, and both sets of eyes darted up. Sam was being rolled back into the room, the wheels of the gurney wobbling under his weight. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed, sleeping. They watched as he was lifted into bed, I.V. reattached, and pain medication administered. The doctor motioned slightly with his hand, toward the hallway, and both men stood, their eyes falling one last time to Sam's sleeping face, and then they followed the Doctor from the room.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	7. Chapter 7

** Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: ** Thanks to Kokoda2007 for the wonderful beta job. You are definitely improving on my words. Don't know what I did without you….made a lot of mistakes!!

**Readers: ** Thank you to everyone who is reading this story. I like to visualize when I read, so that is how I write. If someone is waiting on my next chapter, well, it makes me write faster. Reviews are welcome and needed to keep me focused!

**Chapter 7**

**Do that Already**

The door to Sam's hospital room swung leisurely closed as John and Dean Winchester made their way out into the hall. Dean's hand quickly rested up against it, obstructing it from closing completely, not wanting the view of his brother obscured. He could see the nurse, checking his brother's I.V., making him more comfortable. His eyes moved from Sam, back to the doctor.

"I'm Sam's neurologist, Dr. Howell." A nod and the doctor continued, "Mr. Winchester, your son's head injury is severe. The impact caused a violent and sudden displacement of the brain within his skull. Sam has sheer stress in the brain and stem, which is causing dizziness, confusion, and disorientation. The CT scan did not show bone splinters, but he does have some brain swelling. We are lucky he is awake, and we want to keep him that way. It's the swelling, that's causing the pain, the severe headache. Once the swelling goes down, the pressure will ease and the headache will become more tolerable. We have increased his medication, to help with it."

John's mouth fell open, a shockwave coursing through his veins. _He thought Sam only had a bump on the head. Shit. This could mean a lot of downtime. _

The doctor continued, "I did some cognitive tests while we were downstairs, and I want you both to know, he did have some issues performing them. The slowness, loss of memory, and issues with speech should improve over the next few days. However, Sam is showing mild signs of expressive aphasia."

"Aphasia?" Dean looked curiously at he doctor. _What the hell is that? _

The doctor took in the confused look on their faces and continued, "Sam is experiencing a problem understanding speech, and expression. Some of his words are slurred. He knows what he wants to say, knows what he means, but he is having trouble getting the words out, his mind is not cooperating. It scared him when we were downstairs and he got combative, thus, the need to sedate him during the CT."

"Oh my god," John whispered and pulled his hand up through his dark hair, shoulders slumping in exasperation. _I can't deal with this, Sam has to be okay._

"Aphasia can prove very frustrating and difficult for the patient," the doctor advised. "Sam also has some memory loss, which we would expect with a head trauma, and that too is causing him anxiety." The doctor nodded and gazed at the older man, the boy's father, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. He glanced back over to the older brother, noticing he was totally absorbed in what he was being told, intent on understanding, and knowing what was going on with his little brother. The doc smiled and focused on him.

"So, what can we do to help him?" Dean's large, piercing, blue eyes implored, arms crossed firmly across his chest, face questioning the doctor, and physically demanding an answer.

"Anytime you are dealing with a head trauma this serious, you must be calm, if you are anxious, the patient is anxious. You must listen to him and be supportive. Tolerant as he struggles with himself, he will strive to say the right words, to ask the right questions. It just takes time. Remember, patience is the best virtue in these types of cases."

Dean grinned brightly. _I do that already._

John gazed blankly at the doctor. _This was overwhelming; he thought Sam was getting out of here. Holy Crap._

"It will be a slow recovery, but with the support of his family and therapy, I am sure he will recover." Doctor Howell reassured both men with a warm smile. "I will be back later to check on him. In the meantime, he should wake up momentarily; we only administered a mild sedative." With that, the doctor turned on his heels and left the Winchester men standing in the doorway, thoughts regurgitating his words.

Dean heard rustling from the bed, and made hasty steps back to his little brother's side. He watched Sam as he moved restlessly in the bed, drugged dazed eyes pulling open. Sam abruptly squeezed them shut, biting his lip. Dean's hand came to rest on Sam's plaster cast arm, fingers gripping reassuringly at his brother's hand. "Sammy, you okay….?"

_Dean? _ Sam struggled to gain control of his senses, to respond to his brother through the wave of pain that was washing over him. _His head hurt._ Sam could hear words, but they were floating incoherently in and out around him, and he couldn't quite understand them.

"Sam, can you hear me?" The concern in Dean's voice hovered through the ache, and Sam gradually opened his eyes, to stare blearily at his brother. His weak lids blinked, and then closed again, a light moan escaping from his lips. Dean's fingers continued to unconsciously hold Sam's hand, offering comfort to his kid brother, and himself.

John stood, silent, milling around the doorway, concentration evading him, eyes darting around on the dirty floor. _Sam was going to be recuperating awhile and he needed to get back to the hunt. Get back to finding the damn demon. He was so close. He was sure Dean could handle this right now. _

Dean glanced up to see his Dad staring intently at him.

"I've got some research to do." John said firmly.

Dean's mouth fell open, too astounded to speak.

John walked quickly to the bed, staring down at his youngest.

Sam looked weak, his confused eyes struggling to focus on his father.

John bent down and brushed a brief kiss on his youngest forehead. "Sammy, you understand, right?" He looked unexpectedly to Dean, "I'll be back later," and with that, John Winchester was gone, the door thudding closed in his wake.

Stunned, Dean's eyes watched John's back make a hasty retreat from the room, the door banging closed. Anger rose so quick and tight in Dean's chest that he couldn't breathe. His whole body quivered as the rage rolled over him like a tidal wave. He fought to stay in control. _What the hell? Dad did not just freaking leave? Sam was right, their Dad was a selfish son of a bitch with only one thing on his mind. God, he makes me so freaking mad, I could punch his lights out._ He pulled in a calming breath as he heard a slight fret from his little brother, Sam's body moving uncomfortably around the bed.

"W…WH…r…D…Dad? Sam's pupils were huge.

Dean didn't know if Sam's reaction was from the realization that their Dad was gone, the medication he was on, or the fact he was struggling so hard to understand what was going on. He watched as his little brother's wide eyes filled with tears, and darted anxiously at him.

"Shhhh….Sammy, its okay." Dean eased himself slowly up to sit on the mattress next to Sam, mindful of the I.V., the monitors, and his little brother's fragile state. His arms carefully wound around Sammy. "Hey you, scoot over…." He said quietly, soothingly.

Sam blinked; as a lone tear rolled down his cheek, then a small smile curled up on his pale lips. He gazed intently at his big brother. He felt Dean's firm hands gradually shifting him over. He was aware of an arm sliding slowly beneath his limp neck, his head lolling uncontrollably to the side, and resting comfortably against his big brother. He sensed light callused fingers rubbing on his collar bone, and he sank into their calm. He needed it, welcomed it, the vast protective feeling his brother always gave him. _Dean's here, I'm safe. _ He rested easily in the knowledge that, no matter what, he was not alone. He let slow awareness fade, and drifted off to sleep.

Dean felt his brother let go slightly, as he gently rubbed his fingers across Sam's shoulder blade in a light circular motion. The movement seemed to calm a restless Sammy, his brother relaxing into the soothing touch. He felt Sam's head slump lightly toward the curve of his own neck, and he smiled. He tugged him closer, and moved the blanket snuggly up around him, then he whispered; "Don't worry Sammy, I'm not going anywhere."


	8. Chapter 8

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 8**

Special Thanks to Kokoda2007, my awesome beta. Just when I think I have it right, she makes me see it in a totally different light. Awesome job!!

**A Tormented Soul**

John Winchester was a tormented soul, a man caught between what he had to do and what he needed to do. He had spent the last 16 ½ years trying to overcome the horrible night his wife had been murdered, his house burned to the ground, and his babies almost killed. He remembered the day, as if it were yesterday, a constant memory that latched on to him and never gave him peace. He had made a solemn promise to his Mary that night, that he would avenge her death, find what killed her and take it out. He had made a somber promise to himself that he would never let anything happen to their children again; as long his he was alive, their boys would be safe. He would learn, teach them, and make sure they never succumbed to the supernatural evil that had taken their mother.

He knew he had seemed harsh talking to his youngest, abrasive and uncaring. He was torn, as always, and running from what his boys needed. _Some Dad he was. _ Hell, he knew in his heart, that Dean was more a Dad to Sammy than he was. While he didn't want it to be that way, he was glad Dean was there for Sammy. He sighed loudly, sometimes this burden seemed to be unbearable, and he felt like he was sinking in a sea of blackness, evil, and death. He always struggled; to do the right thing, to make the right choices, to be a good Dad. But, the evil that he knew existed engulfed him, compelled him to fight this never ending battle, to save others from the fate that his family had been forced to endure. He was never comfortable with any of it, and felt like he had disappeared somewhere along the way, but he couldn't stop it, it was his obsession, and as far as he could tell, it was also his own personal hell.

He heard his boots thudding against the grey hospital linoleum as his moist eyes fell to the elevator, finger lightly pressing the down button. _What the hell was he doing? Where the hell was he going? His boys needed him. _ He blinked back the dampness in his lids, and stepped shakily into the open elevator. The doors shut, and he was alone, his thoughts once again jumping back and forth; what he 'had to do', versus, what he 'needed to do'.

He remembered the day he pushed baby Sammy into Dean's arms, telling his four year old to carry his brother from the burning house. He was a distraught father, who only seconds before, had watched his wife burn to death on the ceiling of their baby's nursery. At that moment, his life had changed. The anger and rage had overtaken him, and forced him to become a different person.

He reached his arm up to his face and let his shirt sleeve brush away the wayward tears. He was so tired of this constant internal struggle, this fight. He knew he should put his boys first, he new what he should do. But what he should do was in direct conflict to what he had to do. The battle ragged on within him, constant, harsh, and so relentless, it made his chest hurt, his heart ache, and his mind weary.

He watched as the elevator doors slid open, and he gazed out at the empty hospital hallway, then down to his boots. He knew he had to get back to the hunt, to find the son of a bitch that took his wife, his life, but the notion of his sons needing him, forced him to think too much. He exited the elevator, making his way out to his truck, one thought on his mind.

-O-

Dean's tired eyes glanced down to look at his resting brother; Sam still nestled up against him, his pale features lax. His mind wondered back to his father's last words and his hasty exit from the room. _What was the deal with his Dad? He really needed to work on his priorities!! _ He felt Sam move lightly against him and patted him softly on his uninjured arm. Sam wiggled slightly and then settled back to oblivion. He smiled warmly at his little brother's face. _He looks so young right now. _ He stared back up at the ceiling, his thoughts wondering back to their Dad. _He understood Dad's need to find their Mom's killer. He really did_ . He remembered the pain of her death, the anger that they had both felt when she died. A loss that lingered forever. As the years rolled by, Dean had watched, as his Dad's grieve evolved into a fanatical behavior. He grimaced lightly,_ hell, if it hadn't been for Sammy, he too would have become obsessed._ While his Dad had fixated about what killed their Mom, Dean had focused everything on his little brother. Sam was and would always be his life line, his anchor, and his link to reality. Dean knew Sam was the glue that held their dysfunctional family together. He was almost sure, Dad knew that too.

-O-

Dean was dozing in a chair, next to Sam, when the door to the room swung open. He jerked, his eyes darting around with the sudden movement. He blinked, not sure he was seeing correctly. _Dad?_ He watched as John Winchester slunk quietly back into the room. He gawked as his father curled his large frame in the other chair by Sam's bed. He didn't speak; afraid he would wake his little brother. He was sure though, his eyes were saying volumes, as his sluggish mind comprehended that their father had returned. He pushed himself up firmly in his chair and nodded at his Dad. John shrugged his eyebrows up at his eldest, and brought his callused finger up to rest on his face, a light shushing noise coming from his lips.

Dean gave his father the standard 'I don't believe you' look, but he kept his mouth shut, crossing his arms firmly. _Well the horses' ass decided to return._ He looked down at his watch, realizing it was late; he glanced up at Sam's pale, sleeping face, then back to his Dad. Shaking his head in an exasperated motion, he nestled down in the hard plastic and let his tired eyes close once more.

-O-

Sam was hovering lightly in a medicated haze and he liked it, no pain, no noise, just quiet. He shivered lightly when he heard his brother's voice before he really comprehended he was awake. A soft sound murmuring in his ear, that rose to a louder tone, as his senses came back on line. _Where was he again? _

"Sammy, wake up, please?"

Sam felt a hand rest on his forehead and tug his bangs back off his face; he leaned into the comforting touch. _Dean? _ His eyes refused to open.

Dean watched as his brother seemed to be moving with his words, and he smiled across at his Dad, and then leaned closer to his brother's ear. "Are you going to open those eyes up, kiddo? They brought you some gross looking hospital food."

"Dean!" his father's stern voice echoed around him.

_Dad? _ Sam struggled to open his eyes. _Was that Dad?_

"What...I mean breakfast." Dean rolled his eyes as he watched his Dad grab up Sam's coffee off the tray. "Hey…how come you get the coffee?"

"Because I'm Dad, that's why." A sly grin darted to John's lips as he brought the warm brew up and purposely took a large gulp.

Whatever." Dean snorted as he glared at the cup. "Hey, he's waking up."

Sam smiled slightly at the voices he recognized, the banter he had heard his whole life. He finally forced his heavy lids to open, and blinked at the fuzzy shapes in front of him. _Dean? _ The word formed in his head, and he struggled to push it out his lips. "Edn." _What? What was that? Did he say that? That wasn't right?_ Anxiety edged its way up his body, as his puzzled mind tried to understand what was going on. "dddhaaannneennn."

Dean could hear the anxiety in his brother's voice as he attempted to say the word again. He could see the urgency in his face. He was sure he knew the one word Sam was trying so hard to speak, and he eased quickly up to his side and clutched his brother's hand.

"Its okay, Sammy. I'm right here." Dean squeezed Sam's hand tightly, watching as his brother's apprehensive face peered up at him. "The doctor said you might have some trouble talking right now…..it's okay."

Sam didn't understand why he couldn't get the word out. His wide eyes roamed from Dean's face, to his Dad's, and then back again. _He didn't like this, what was wrong with him?_ He tugged in a gulp of air. _Why did his chest hurt so badly? _ He pushed harshly against his brother's hand, attempting to sit up straighter on the bed. _He couldn't catch his breath. Air, he needed air_ . Sheer panic washed across his features. The pain grabbing a hold. He pinched his eyes shut, mouth gasping, fingers tugging at Dean.

"Sammy?" John's finger hit the call button, his concerned face fixed on his youngest.

Sam heard his father's voice in the distance, felt his stern fingers against his shoulder. He clutched tautly around at his brother's hand. He wanted to respond, but he was floating on a sea of emotions and pain, too far off to answer.

-O-

Doctor Howell looked intently at young Sam Winchester as he shined the pin light in his eyes. He noticed the youth flinched, but did not veer from the light.

"That's good Sam. Now watch my finger." He moved his hand around from the left to the right and watched Sam's eyes follow along. "That's real good Sam." Doctor Howell patted Sam's knee underneath the blanket, "We'll get you started on speech therapy, you'll see Sam, every thing will be fine." The doctor smiled warmly at the youth, then turned to look at the boy's father and brother.

"He's doing fine now; we gave him something for the anxiety. As I said before, this is totally normal. He just had an anxiety attack, and with his injuries, it just complicated it."

Dean sighed, letting the air out he did not realize he was holding. He looked over at his little brother, who seemed very relaxed and happy now.

"So when does he start speech therapy?" John asked as he looked at the doctor.

"Tomorrow, we can start tomorrow. Once you two learn how to work with him, he can go home and do the therapy there. I will want to see him weekly though, just to make sure he's doing okay."

John nodded, "Rest assured, you will see him as often as need be."

Dean quirked his head up at that statement. _Unusual remark coming from his Dad?_

"I thought that you said you traveled a lot, Mr. Winchester, and it would be difficult to get him in for visits?" Doctor Howell looked confused; he knew he remembered that conversation several nights ago, in this same hallway.

"Well, we will be staying here awhile, after all." John smiled.

The doctor smiled back, "That's good. Okay then, I'll see you tomorrow, Sam."

Dean stood stock still, eyes fixed on his father. _This was his father, wasn't it? If not, maybe a shape shifter? _ As soon as the door swung closed, a lone word whispered from his lips. "Christo?"

John laughed, he laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. He looked straight as his oldest, crinkle lines surrounding his eyes, head leaning back as the pleasure rolled off of him. He swayed with the laughter, and purposely sat down in a chair to keep from falling down. "Dean," He shook his head, "Son…you are too predictable." And then he laughed some more.

"What did you mean, telling him we would be here awhile?" Dean's face glared at his father; still not sure something wasn't going on here.

"I rented an apartment, about two blocks from here." John smiled with satisfaction, hands wiping the dampness from his happy eyes.

"You did?" Dean asked, amazement in his voice.

"Yes son, I did." John grinned, and then started laughing again. "The look on your face was priceless."

Dean's mouth turned up slowly, a light smile curling on his lips. His eyes beamed at his father. _Amazing. _ He let a small chuckle escape his throat that morphed into a laugh. _His Dad had decided to put his brother before the hunt._ _Amazing!_ This was rare; in fact he couldn't recall the last time this occurred. It had been far and few between, and he knew it. He accepted it for what it was, and just enjoyed the moment.

Both men stopped suddenly, the noise from beside them catching their attention. Their eyes darted from one another to Sam. He was awake, a drug induced daze still floating in his unfocused eyes, but a smile was resting on his face, a light giggle escaping from his pale lips. The older men grinned broadly at the blessed sound.

He doesn't even know what he's laughing about." Dean ventured with a smirk.

"Nope, but it is the best sound I have heard in days." John beamed.

Dean moved his hand down and brushed at his little brothers shaggy locks. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." His eyes watched intently as his little brother's goofy grin grew wider.

John smiled brightly, as the sound of laughter, contentment, and happiness filled the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: ** There are not enough words for me to thank my beta - Kokoda2007. You are the best! All errors after her review are my own!!

**Note to Readers-** Thanks for hanging with me. I am sorry this took a while to update; I have been swamped at work lately. I will do better, I promise.

**Chapter 9**

**Reality**

Sam's first therapy session seemed to drag on forever, Dean gazing quietly as the kid struggled to get the pictures the therapist was showing him to make sense. It was gut wrenching to see his little brother's face contorting and straining to form the words in his head, and force them to escape across his lips. As Dean watched, he noted, the entire episode seemed to be taking a toll on Sam; he looked overwhelmed and exhausted.

Dean cast a glance at the pretty blond therapist leaning in to assist Sam. She held a large stack of flashcards pressed against chest, and he fought to focus his thoughts. _Huh, she was cute. Focus Dean, focus... _ He quickly diverted his attention back to Sam, his brother's voice shaking as light huffs and puffs rolled from his tongue, his whole body fighting for control, lips trembling with the effort of making a coherent noise.

Dean tore his eyes uncomfortably over to John, who stood mesmerized next to him; face seemingly twisted up in pain, stress lines tense around his eyes. _His father was obviously having some difficulty taking all this in. _ He darted his eyes back to his brother, watching as the ripples of agitation and frustration etched across Sam's face.

Dean kept his eyes firmly on his brother, giving him a quick little nod of approval whenever Sam looked his way. He watched as Sam's wide orbs darted to John for reassurance, but John seemed lost in his own thoughts. Sam's eyes moved at once back to Dean. He smiled sincerely at Sam, hand lightly moving up and patting his leg reassuringly underneath the blankets.

That's when Dean heard it, the light rustle right next to him, movement falling away from his brother. He rolled his head to eye his father, who, at the moment, seemed more overwhelmed than Sammy. John shook his head, tears welling up in his own eyes, he whispered, "I can't watch this…" To Dean's stunned amazement, his father backed slowly on his heels, bumping into the doorframe, turning quickly and exited the room. _Son of a bitch…Sammy needed them both right now. _

Disapproval welled up in Dean's chest, but he fought back the anger and swiftly returned his gaze to his brother, blue eyes looking encouragingly at him. Dean looked at the card the therapist was now holding up and back to Sam. Sam's large eyes blinked quickly, staring forlornly from the doorway to Dean as the tears pooled beneath his lids. _Once again, Dad was making an impact on his little brother. Dean knew this was hard, hell it was devastating, but the important person here was Sammy, not John Winchester. _

Dean shuffled from one shoe to the other, anxiety tugging at his edges. _He could kill his Dad. _ He grinned broadly at Sam and watche as his kid brother released a stuttering breathe, shaky sounds escaping from his throat.

"Dee...ugg," Sam's voice hitched as he tugged his good arm up and swiped it hastily across his damp eyes.

"Sam, you have to say the 'o' sound…Doooog…ooo sound. Dog. Not the 'e' sound" The therapist still held the card up firmly, face never veering from Sam's line of vision, tone soft and encouraging.

Dean's lips curled up unconsciously. _Deeee, huh…_ Sam's word made him smile.

Sam groaned, and stared at the card in front of him. This was too hard. He looked from the word to his older brother, Dean's large smile giving him reassurance and support. _Dean was here. But, Dad left, where did Dad go? _

The young therapist grinned and whispered, "You can do it, Sam, come on, try again."

"D….D…Dooo…g" Sam finally whispered, getting what sounded like the word to form in his throat and then roll off of his tongue. He looked wide eyed at Dean; tear stained face perplexed, hopeful, wanting approval.

Dean gave his little brother a cockeyed grin, and reached his hand over and gave his shoulder a quick grasp, blinking back the his own moist eyes. "Good Sammy, real good."

Sam giggled lightly, his face beaming, his eyes lighting up briefly with relief. He nodded his head silently at Dean, knowing his brother would understand that his presence was appreciated. He pulled in a couple of calming breaths, and glared harshly at the next card. _He could do this._ The process started all over again.

OOOOOO

After thirty minutes, which seemed like hours to Dean, the therapist gathered up her cards, "All done for now." She smiled and winked at Dean, and then moved out of the room.

Dean chewed his bottom lip as he watched the therapist leaving the room. W_as she flirting with him? _ He shook the thought from his head and refocused on Sam, watching as his little brother's eyelids fell slowly closed. _Sam was exhausted, mentally and physically, the therapy session had definitely taken a toll on him. _ He patted the blanket, smoothing it down across his sleeping brother. Dean turned to stare out the window, watching the people bustling around on the sidewalk. _He found it funny that the world was going on around him, everyone completely unaware of the struggle going on in this hospital room, or that his brother's life had been changed. _ He pulled his callused hand through his cropped hair and scrubbed it down across his day old stubble. He sighed. Sudden reality hit him and he numbly sat down in the plastic chair beside Sam's bed. _Sammy may not ever be the same._

_OOOOOOO_

John Winchester shoved bodily past the nurses and doctors in the crowded hallway, eyes blinking quickly around the area. _He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. _ He pushed against the glass double doors, the wind blowing gently across his face as his boots met the concrete sidewalk. _Air, fresh air. He needed to get it together, be there for his youngest._ Watching Sam struggle today was difficult. _Much harder than he thought it would be. _ In fact, it was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. He grimaced at the thought. _Hell he could kill a water wraith, exorcise a demon, salt and burn a ghost, but he couldn't do anything for his boy. What was that shit? Sammy, his youngest, his baby. The curious, inquisitive, questioning boy. The one who drove him nuts with the why, when, and where's all the time. The one he told to stop asking questions? _ He shook his head, angry at himself for his past discretions. The thought made him shudder, the realization hitting hard. _Sam might be different now_ . He eyed a black wrought iron bench and slumped limply down against it, numbness encroaching on his thoughts, hands gripping at his kneecaps.

He tugged in a breath of air attempting to calm his racing thoughts. He gazed down at the wedding ring still adorning his left hand, his right fingers turning it slowly around and around. His head tilted watching the gold metal shimmer in the sunlight. He could still see Mary smiling at him, as she held baby Sammy in her arms, little Dean squashed up as close as possible to her, eyes gleaming down at his little brother. He remembered leaning over and kissing his boys, then his beautiful wife. A lone promise whispering from his lips. "_I will always take care of you. As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen". _ He could still see Mary's smile, as she tugged them all closer, nestling her family up against her. _"We know John; we know you will always take care of us." _

Less than 24 hours later, his wife was dead. Her words though, they lingered, a constant whisper in John's head. _"We know John; we know you will always take care of us." _ He had found the promise harder and harder to keep. The fact that his wife had suffered and he had not been able to protect her; had left a gapping whole in his heart. John's body gave a light shudder, the cold air and memories intermingling, giving him a chill. He pushed off the metal bench and stood, tugging in a large gulp of air with the movement. He focused on the task at hand, finger clutching the gold ring on his left hand. He had made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

OOOOOOOO

John smiled as he watched Dean holding up the flash cards for his brother, Sam eyeing them each one intently, thought patterns evident on his face as he struggled to pull the words from his head.

"Tr...TR..Uck" Sam grinned brightly.

"Right you are bro." Dean smirked, shuffling the card to the back and holding up the next one.

John noticed Dr. Howell enter the room, and he stood and walked toward him, extending his hand. "Your oldest, he is good at this," the doctor tilted his head toward Dean as he released John's large hand.

"Oh yeah, he's done this before, with Sammy actually. He really raised his kid brother after their mother died. I just hung around and watched." John grinned lightly at the doctor, and turned to see Dean's curious blue eyes looking at him. He winked at his oldest and returned his face to the doctor. "Sammy good to get out of here now?"

"Yes, I think he is, it's been a week, and he seems well on the path to recovery. He just needs to take it slow, he did have a severe concussion, causing the speech impediment, and so overdoing things is not an option." The doctor paused and turned to look directly at Dean, who had stopped moving the cards and was looking attentively at both men. "His therapy is a must do. I have seen patients like Sam get 85 motor function back with continual practice, patience, and support."

"Well, we're shooting for 100 doc." Dean smiled as he rested his fingers around Sam's wrist and gave a slight tug. Sammy smiled too.

"He needs to watch that arm and shoulder, keeping them as stable as possible, and do his physical therapy. He needs to continue his breathing treatments for the lung we operated on, at least til I see him again. The lung is getting stronger everyday. Make sure Sam takes his meds for the pain and headache. They should ease off with time. I need him back in my office one week from today." Dr. Howell nodded firmly at both men.

John looked wide-eyed for a moment, and then casually said, "Dean, you get all that, son?" His blank face stared at his oldest.

"Uh huh, I got it covered, Dad."

The doctor snorted out a slight laugh as he turned to leave the room. _Yep, he knew who took care of Sam Winchester._

**Reviews are welcomed and appreciated. Just a few more chapters to go. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Thanks to my Beta: ** Kokoda2007. My thoughts just roll out onto the paper. Her assistance in getting it all straight is greatly appreciated. Of course, I still have to go back over it numerous times, tweeking! So any mistakes you find, are unfortunately my own.

**Chapter 10**

**You Got to be Tough**

The ride from the hospital was quiet. Sammy dozing in a medicated sleep, wedged between his Dad and brother on the front seat of John's large black truck.

John smirked, as his eyes darted from the road to his youngest. It amazed him how Sam could curl his long body up until it fit snuggly against his older brother, anytime, anywhere. He unconsciously shook his head. _Sam had done that since he was a baby. He remembered it was the only way they could get little Sammy to sleep as a child, nuzzled up next to his older brother. _ His eyes pulled from Sam to his older son's face. John smiled and winked at his boy. He knew his fair haired son had filled a role that he had unfortunately not been able to do. Although, he was called Dad, it was Dean that had been there for Sam. It was Dean who had filled the void left by Mary's death. It was Dean who the mothering instincts came to naturally. Somewhere, along the way, he had gotten lost in a never ending quest to avenge his wife's death. He knew it was an obsession, but, it was one he was unable to control. He regretted his mistakes, wished he could change them, but knew it was the truth, and had long ago accepted it, would live with it, and would be thankful Dean was there for Sam.

John grinned confidently to himself, he knew he was about to make his oldest son's day, a feat he didn't get to do very often.

Dean pulled his brother in closer against him, Sam's brown locks nuzzled underneath his chin, his fingers holding Sam lightly against his shoulder, warding off the jars, and rumbles the truck made on the bumpy highway. He watched as their Dad looked at Sam and smiled, then grinned up at him. _Did his Dad just wink at him? Who is this guy and what did he do with John Winchester? _ Dean's eyebrows arched up in a questioning look at his father, he bit back the words that were daring to escape from his lips. _What the hell Dad, you're awfully freak'n happy today. _

John pulled the large Chevy into the driveway of the clap board house, the last house on the end of the desolate dead end street. Large trees shrouded the house. Shrubs and weeds decorated the overgrown yard. John turned off the ignition and waited for his oldest to see anything familiar. _He knew his boy, and there was no way this was not going to give him a head rush. _ He smiled across the seat and watched as Dean's eyes fell to his beloved Impala, completely refurbished, shiny and new, parked beneath the large oak tree in the front yard.

Dean whispered, "Dad, you didn't tell me you fixed the car?" His eyes were as wide as saucers, pleasure obvious on his face. A large lopsided grin snaked its way to his lips, and he stared at his Dad. He attempted to curb his enthusiasm, not wanting to wake his little brother, but giddy exhilaration overcame him. His body twitched with excitement. "Wow, thanks Dad." He voiced elatedly.

"Surprise son, I had Bobby fix'er up. It's as good as new." John's smile was brilliant. He practically bounced out of the car and reached in the truck bed to get Sammy's bag. He grinned broadly at his tow headed boy. _For once, he'd done something right. _

"Sammy, wake up kiddo, we're home." John whispered tenderly into the hair of his youngest, and then eased back standing by the open passenger door.

Dean reached down and tugged the long locks away from Sam's forehead, fingers lightly pulling through his disheveled brown hair and resting on the top of Sam's lolling head.

They both watched and waited as Sam's eyes slowly tugged open, foggy gaze peering around at his surroundings.

"COM' on, kiddo, let's get you inside." Dean's fingers reached down to grip Sam by the arm, bodily sliding him across the leather seat.

"MmmmHummm" Sammy yawned, leaning his weary head back against Dean's shoulder. "Wwwhere are we?" He asked sluggishly.

Dean held his hands against his Sam's shoulders, his brother's sneakers falling to the ground, as he stood on wobbly legs.

"L...look D...D...Dean, the c...car." Sam raised his hand and pointed to the black Impala, beneath the old Oak tree, smile faint on his pale lips, dilated eyes staring in astonishment.

"Yea, I see it bro, awesome ain't it." Dean nodded evenly as he tugged Sam's arm over his shoulder and helped his brother move slowly toward the porch. He gazed past the porch to the tiny white clapboard house. _Humph…Impressive Dad_ ...

"Home", John turned and smiled at his youngest, keys jingling in his fingers, happiness dancing in his eyes.

"H…h...ome?" Sammy stuttered, wide eyed, staring astounded at his Dad.

"Yep Sam, for as long as we need it." John quipped. He pushed the key in the lock and swung the door open with his hand. He dropped Sam's bag to the musty carpet, stepping lightheartedly back to the porch, assisting Dean to maneuver Sam into the house.

Sam's face was priceless, large, unfocused eyes looking widely around the dark living room and back to his Dad. He sat limply down on the lumpy couch and looked confused eyes at his older brother.

"Yea Sammy, Dad got us this house to stay in while you go to therapy." Dean offered as he eased down next to his brother on the couch, cocky grin rising to his lips. "Guess we get to take a stab at the family life you want so bad, you know, house, car, the whole nine yards…huh?"

Sam's bottom lip began to quiver and he blinked owlishly up at his Dad.

"Th..Th…Thanks D..d.ddad." He stammered.

**-O- **

Four days later, John Winchester was driving his oldest son crazy in every sense of the word. Dean eased his head around the corner of the kitchen, eyes growing large with disbelief. _Maybe a shape shifter was involved here after all?_ First the car was restored, like new. Then, a home for his little brother; and now, now, his Dad was padding around in the kitchen cooking dinner? _Un-Freaking Believable._

He eased back in the dank chair and looked across at his little brother; sound asleep, sprawled out on the couch in a large cloud of blankets. _Sam looked so peaceful in sleep, so happy. Dean knew it was because they were all together, in a home, or the closest thing Sam had ever had to one. _ He lightly thumbed the remote to turn down the volume and then flipped the television on, his fingers clicking through the muted channels, as Sam slept on. His father noisily clanked around in the kitchen, fixing dinner. _This was all too surreal._

**-O- **

Dean leaned across the kitchen table, index cards clutched tightly in his fingers, eyes focused on his little brother.

"Come on Sammy, you know this one." He encouraged.

Sam rolled his eyes. _Of course he knew it, but getting it out, that was a different story all together._ "R...W...Rrrain…bow". Sammy stuttered out and then grinned broadly at his brother.

"Right you are kiddo." Dean smiled. "And this one?"

"Dog, Cat, Goat, Bread, Eggs." Sam stammered off as fast as Dean could move the cards.

"Okay, smartass, what's this?" Dean quipped.

"Www..a..lon" Sam strained to get the word out, a look of total exasperation creeping across his face. "Too bbig".

Dean's eyebrows wiggled up as he turned the card over and looked at the word. He looked back up and nodded slowly at his brother, "You can do it."

John glanced up from his newspaper to his son's, focusing on his youngest face. He slammed the paper down against the table. _Sam needed to try harder. _ He had noticed in the last several days that the multi syllable words were giving Sam a hard time, but he also noticed that Sam was just giving up, quitting. _Winchesters never gave up. Sam needed to buck up, and get the words right_ .

"Sammy, slow down." John stated abruptly, "Go slow, and you will get the word out." He looked firmly at his boy, and then ripped the newspaper back up covering his face. He really wasn't reading, not really comprehending the words on the page, but listening attentively to his boys. _Sam needed to try harder. _ He heaved out a tired breath and waited.

"Wat'rrrrmel…lon" Sam said apprehensively as he looked from the card, to Dean, and then to his Dad who was again hiding behind the newspaper. Sam's eyes said that he wanted and needed approval from Dean, from his Dad. "Watermelon" he finally whispered.

Dean smiled brightly at Sam, "Good job."

Dean took immediate notice that their father did not say a word, but stayed hovered behind the newspaper. _Son of a bitch_ , _what was his problem? _

Dean could tell this whole little playing house deal was starting to grate on their Dad's nerves. John Winchester was not a man to stay in one place very long, no matter how hard he was trying. Two weeks and he was still around. _Amazing!_ He knew that this charade would be ending, probably sooner rather than later. _He was a realist_ . He was glad for the last couple of weeks though, Sammy had enjoyed it, and actually, he had too. _This being a family thing wasn't so bad. _

Dean could tell by his brother's expression, Sam was shocked at John's little outburst with regards to giving 110 percent effort with his speech therapy. _He was sure Sammy was doing just that._ It didn't make it any easier when his Dad was being an ass about it. Sam looked exhausted, and Dean realized they had done more than enough speech therapy for one day_. Sam needs a break from this. _

"Good job Sammy, we're done with the speech therapy for today. Want to try some work on your arm?" Dean tossed the bright red ball toward Sam, who reached his good arm up to grab it easily.

"Sam, it does you no good to catch it with your good arm." Dean gave his brother an exasperated face.

"Deeeaaaannnnn." Sam whined. _He didn't want to do this anymore._

John's unrestrained anger brimmed just below the surface. _Holy crap, this was driving him nuts. He wanted Sam to get it together, time was a wasting. _ He slammed the newspaper down on the table with a slight smack, hostile eyes darting to his youngest. He heaved in a gulp of air when he saw Sam's wide innocent eyes looking intently at him. He darted a gaze to Dean, noting the piercing glare and the 'what the hell' look he was getting from his oldest_._ He reeled his anger back, tugging it inward, holding it there, and swallowing it down. _Sam was trying. He just needed to give the kid a break. A break, that's what they all needed…a break._

"Well, I think we're totally done for the day, let's go get some dinner, what'cha say, Sammy?" John patted Sam on the arm, his anger falling by the wayside.

"But Dad, he needs too….." Dean's voice wavered off into nothing as Sam dropped the ball to the kitchen floor; it bounced a few times, and then rolled beneath the refrigerator.

**-O-**

John insisted on dinner in a nasty looking biker bar justifying it by saying that he needed a beer, hot wings, and downtime playing pool.

The brother's just looked at each other. Sam slumped in disgust. _He didn't want to eat in this dive. _

Dean glanced at his brother, while he thrived in this environment, he knew Sam did not. He looked at his Dad and reluctantly agreed. _He could use a cold one. Sam would just have to make do. _

The plump, 40ish waitress sauntered up to their table, bubble gum slapping in her mouth, pencil and notepad resting on her ample cleavage, heavily made up eyes batting slowly at John Winchester. "What can I get'cha sugar?" She leaned in, resting her chest up against Johns shoulder.

He grinned up at her, and nudged his shoulder lightly away from her body. "Ah…I'll have some hot wings and a Budweiser." He grinned.

"I'll have the same", Dean offered up as he attempted to wipe the smirk from his face. _This woman was all over his Dad._

"And what will you have?" She leaned across the table, eyes giving Sammy a long steady look.

"I…I…wwant a B…B…" The words would not come to Sam's lips as he looked anxiously at the waitress. _Calm down, think of the word, and go slow._ His face flushed and he pulled in a heaving breath.

"Spit it out kid. I got other customers." She blurted. Her pencil tapped incessantly on her notepad.

John gazed at her. _I could so kick her ass right now. _ John smirked at the chubby little waitress. _Sammy needs to get tough if he was going to have to live with a speech impediment. No point in sugar coating it for him._ _John hated to have to be so hard core, but he knew Dean would never be able to. _ He sucked in some air, firmed up his military shoulders, then shrugged and winked at the flamboyant waitress.

Dean turned to look crossly at his father, and then glared at the waitress. "He'll have a burger and fries, with a coke." Dean spat out, as he slammed the menu down against the sticky table and eyed his brother's blushing face.

The waitress rolled her eyes, smiled at John, and then yanked the menus up to her breast as she hustled away.

"What the hell, Dad?" Dean's voice creaked out in a low whisper, as he attempted to keep his annoyance in check.

"Oh get over it Dean. Sam's got to adjust to the real world. Winchester's are tough. Ain't that right Sammy." John glanced to his youngest and nodded his head. _God he hated this_ .

Sam seemed to sink into the corner of the booth, blinking wide eyed at his Dad.

"I'm shooting some pool." John shuffled to his feet. _I can't watch this._ He left his boys at the table, both looking out of sorts.

_God, his Dad was such an ass sometimes. _ Dean squinted across the booth at Sam. "It's okay Sammy, he's just tired."

Sam silently shook his head, gazing at a sticky spot on the dirty table. Suddenly, he stood up, "Bbath...roooom"; he stammered and made his way across the smoky bar to the men's room.

Dean watched as his little brother disappeared into the restroom, mulling over whether to go check on him or not. He pulled his hand down across his face, breathe cascading across his lips. He eyed the waitress as she sat the beer down with a loud thump on the table.

"I gave the other guy his beer." She touted, "You know, your older brother."

Dean's lips twitched up in laughter. He jerked his beer up and took a large gulp and watched the waitress as she slid Sam's coke to the table, and sauntered away. He darted his eyes over to see his Dad reeling in another sucker for a game pool. _Boy, I am way to much like Dad_ .

**-O- **

Sam tugged his shirt sleeve up and pulled it across his damp eyelids, quickly wiping away the emotions that rested there. _Jeez, act seventeen, not seven._ _Dad was right…._

He stared at his face in the mirror. _He didn't look any different? But he was, and he knew it. _ He didn't like this new Sam, the one that sounded slow, uncoordinated. He was tired of this and wanted to be the confident Sam he was before. _Suck it up, Winchester, suck it up!_

He turned to leave the bathroom, fingers pushing against the doorway. The door swung open, and slammed right into the six foot five inch mound of muscle in a Harley t-shirt.

"Son of a bitch, you little twerp, watch what the hell you're do' in." The large man grabbed the door and gave it, and Sam, a hard nudge back into the bathroom.

Sam's sneakers stumbled backward; arms wind milling as he struggled to stay upright. His eyes grew huge, and he fought to get the word in his head to escape from his lips, "S...s...so…r...rrry."

"Oh look here Dirk; we got us a s…s…sstutterer." The burly biker dude said cockily as he punched his Neanderthal friend that had followed him into the small room.

"I...I'm...ssss…" Sam whispered, the vile stench of Jack Daniels weaving around his face as he inched himself away from the bulky men.

Sam leaned as far back from the large bodies as he could get, skidding himself along the damp bathroom wall toward the half opened doorway. He felt a large, chunky hand wrench up his shirt collar, tugging him back toward them both. He pushed his hands against the fingers, attempting to gain purchase, and move past them.

"Let...go…go." Sam cringed, tugging himself away from the tight hand wrapped around his shirt.

"Little stuttering boy…You…you WA...want your Mom…my?" The drunken Neanderthal said loudly.

"Hey…HEY...HEY…Let go of my little brother you sorry son of a bitch."

_Was that Dean? Dean? Oh thank god._ Sam felt the fingers relinquish their hold just after the word 'bitch' and wobbled backward against the cool tile wall. His eyes darted up just as Dean's fist plummeted against one guy's face, abruptly moving the man's nose over to the side of his cheek.

"So"

Punch…

"You get"

Punch…

You're kicks"

Punch…

"Making fun of people"

Punch…

"Huh?" Dean's voice reverberated around the room. His body looming over the top of the biker whose shirt he now held tightly in one hand. His eyes were wild, his clinched fist bloody from the face he had punch excessively.

The second inebriated biker reached across and sucker punched Dean firmly in the mouth, blood spurting down the front of his AC/DC t-shirt as he relinquished his hold on the first guy. He stumbled backward, but quickly regained his footing. "You ass…"

"DEAN! What the hell?" A large Winchester voice boomed into the small confined bathroom.

_Dad? _ Sam blinked wide eyed and watched as his Dad pummeled the other guy, hands punching the biker in the guts over and over.

Sam stared, body pressed up against the wall, as the motions in front of him stopped, the two large biker dudes weaving, wavering, and then falling with a thud to the nasty bathroom tile. He gazed from his Dad's bloody nose, to his brother's busted lip.

"Come on Sammy." Dean's firm fingers grasped at his arm. Then he felt his father's large hand nudging him toward the doorway, his eyes darting down to the hefty, unconscious men bleeding on the dirty grey tile.

"We'll take our order to go." Sam heard his dad's self-satisfied voice behind him, as his older brother pushed him out the door.

16


	11. Chapter 11

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 11**

**End to the Fantasy**

Dean watched as his father paced the floor. John had been moving around the house, restless for the last two days, fidgeting, cleaning guns, checking voice mails. And today, for the last couple of hours, he had been pacing, roving, wondering from room to room. Dean's eyes darted up at him as he moved past him again, making his way to the kitchen. Dean knew the routine; he had been watching it all morning. First, his Dad would pace slowly around the living room, then through the kitchen and out the back door, to the porch. He would stand and gaze off into nothing, then travel slowly back inside. Finally, he would come and sit again in the musty chair, across from Dean, fingers grabbing up the newspaper, eyes randomly looking at it. Dean realized that his father did not even recognize he was doing any of this; it was an unconscious restless occurrence that only meant one thing to Dean. _Dad was ready to leave. _

Dean smiled to himself. They had been here a little over a month since Sammy's release from the hospital, and he had to admit, it had been nice, staying in this little clap board house in the middle of no where, being a family, dysfunctional as hell, but still, a family. He moved his gaze to his seventeen year old brother, sitting snuggly on the dirty couch, long legs curled up beneath him, head leaning down intently gazing at the flash cards gripped tightly in his hands. His mouth was moving, mumbling words slowly to himself. He felt a slight twinge of sadness.He was sure Sam wasn't noticing his Dad's irrational behavior, caught up in his own therapy sessions, cards, and struggling to get back to 100 percent. He also knew that Sam was reveling in this comfy place, and for that reason, he hated to see it end. So, he wouldn't bring attention to it. He would keep his mouth shut, not rush the inevitable, but he knew, in his gut, what was coming.

**-O-**

"DD..ean." Sammy spoke softly from his position on the couch, large eyes peering over at his older brother. "CCan you h..help me?" Sam queried.

John's eyes blinked up from the newspaper to his youngest, watching silently.

"Sure Sammy." Dean shifted in his seat, fingers flipping off the T.V. and reaching over to take the cards from his little brother.

Dean held the cards up and waited for Sam to say the words. Sam had graduated from one and two syllable words to three, four, and five, and Dean was amazed at how well he was doing. He only seemed to struggle when he got anxious, nervous or upset, and then he stuttered. Dean agreed with Sam's doctor, Sam was at 90 percent, and unfortunately, that was probably as good as it was gong to get. But 90 percent was a long way from where his brother had came from that first day in the hospital.

"Watermelon, Dog, Calendar, enve...velope, calculate...tor….." The words flowed from Sam's lips easily, in succession, and a large smile decorated his face.

John eased back against the chair, listening, smiling; his boy was well on the road to a complete recovery. It had been a long two months, a hard two months. But he was glad he had been there for Sam. It distressed him that he had to be rough on his youngest, but he knew he was the only one who 'could' do it. _Dean just did not have it in him to be harsh to his little brother. _ So, he had once again played the bad guy, the uncaring father who made Sam tow the line, suck it up, and fight to get his life back. He smiled. Obviously that had worked, forcing Sam to put all his efforts into getting better, to not quit, or give up. It was all worth it, just to witness this. He shuffled in his seat. _It was time to go; he was itching to get back to work. _ He knew Dean was aware, was watching, waiting for him to leave, but he was not so sure Sam suspected anything. His youngest seemed comfortable and happy in this place, and he wasn't sure how to break it to him that 'family time' was over, and it was time to get back to the hunt.

**-O-**

Dean woke early the next morning, the sun barely creeping over the tops of the tree line. Something had tugged him from his peaceful slumber, an uncomfortable knot now resting in his stomach. He hastily dragged his eyes across the room to see his brother huddled in a large mass of blankets, brown hair sticking out at all angles, sleep heavy lids closed silently. He eased a shaky breath out as he realized Sam was still sound asleep, no dreams, or nightmares causing his abrupt wakefulness. _What had woken him?_ He moved his hands up behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, eyes drifting closed, listening conscientiously to a sleeping Sam.

The sound of heavy footfalls stirred him quickly to wide awake and his hand quickly clutched the knife beneath his pillow. He darted his eyes toward the bedroom door that was slowly creeping open, and relaxed when he saw his father, duffle in one hand, coat on in the other, eyes holding that wayward look he always got right before he left on a hunt.

John's finger rose to his lips, a light 'shhhh' riding quietly across the room to Dean's ears, hand motioning for Dean to follow him from the room.

Dean relinquished his hold on the knife and shuffled from the bed, the mattress squeaking slightly as his feet fell softly to the carpet. He took one last look at his sleeping brother. _I'm sorry Sammy._ He made a light grimace, as he tiptoed from the room, following his father to the kitchen.

John Winchester stood silently by the old coffee maker, watching the water drip into the cracked pot. He knew this was the coward's way out, to leave his youngest to wake up later to find him gone. He felt his oldest eyes resting on the back of his head and turned slowly, already knowing the answer to the question on his lips, but asking it anyway.

"So, Sammy still asleep?" John's voice was quiet; he knew this was easier for him, to leave this way, not having to face his youngest broken stare. He also knew it was harder on Dean.

Dean lips curled up in a light smile, "So, trying to sneak out before Sam knows you're gone?" His fingers reached for a coffee cup on the countertop.

John smiled and nodded his head at his eldest son.

Dean stood silently next to his Dad, watching the water drip through the dawdling coffee pot, wanting to say something more, but not really sure what to say. He had been down this road before, many times, but this time, it seemed harder somehow.

"I paid the rent up through the end of the month, so you guys have two more weeks here." John poured the coffee into Dean's cup then watched it guzzle into his own.

"Thanks." Dean smirked as he brought the strong, black coffee to his lips, blowing easily on the steaming brew. He watched as his Dad reached his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a large wade of cash.

"Here, this is for you boys." He pushed the money towards Dean's free hand and then clutched his boys' fingers tightly around it. "It should get you by for awhile."

Dean looked wide eyed from his Dad to the cash, and then returned his stare to his father. "Where...did you get…?" He stammered out. _He sounded like he was the one with the speech impediment now. _ Dean's lips rose in a cockeyed grin.

"I'm Dad, I have my sources." John grinned and pulled his lukewarm coffee to his lips, eyes gazing at his son. "I'll have my phone; you call me if anything happens, if you need me. And look out for your brother."

"You know I will Dad." Dean's standard answer in a conversation he had so many times in his life, he'd lost count. He grinned as he placed the wad of cash on the counter top, large smile flashing across his features. "You sure, you don't want to wake up Sammy?"

"No, no, let him sleep." John whispered as he sat the empty coffee cup down on the countertop and tugged his duffle up tighter to his shoulder. _I don't think I can face him right now._ "I'll call him later." He reassured.

John stepped hesitantly toward the back door, hand resting on the doorknob. He stopped and gazed back at his blue eyed son, a firm smile on his face. "I know I can count on you Dean, it has never been an issue."

Dean dropped his gaze to his feet, wiggling his toes against the cold linoleum. "Yes sir", he said softly. _Was Dad paying him a compliment?_

He felt his father step hastily toward him, his large hand pulling him quickly against a broad shoulder, then releasing him. He glanced up, the back door swung lightly against the doorframe, his Dad was gone.

**-O- **

The sun was glaring directly in Sam Winchester's eyes when he squint them open, arms rising up above his head and stretching in the morning light. He rolled his head over against the warm pillow toward the other twin bed. _No Dean?_ He pulled his eyes up to the clock on the night stand. 7_:36 a.m._ He pushed himself up against the blankets and flung his feet over the side, toes curling against the carpet. He stood and gazed around the room. _Something felt off?_ He shrugged against the feeling and trudged out into the hallway and toward the kitchen. His eyes twinkled as they fell to his brother, sitting at the table, coffee cup snuggly in his hand, newspaper resting out in front of him. He stumbled toward the cabinet and pulled out a cup, his brother glancing up from the paper to look at him.

"Hey Sammy".

"Morn...ning." Sam said as he poured himself some of the java, and eased down across from Dean at the table.

Dean shuffled the newspaper closed. _Better get this over with now, quick and easy._

"So, you sleep good bro?" He looked intently at Sam.

"Yea…" Sam said around slurps of coffee. _Dad said to say the whole word, not an abbreviated version. _ "Yes".

"Well, you have the doctor's appointment this morning. 10:00…remember?"

"Yes, I re…member." Sam grinned, fingers yanking a powdered donut from the box on the table and stuffing it in his mouth, gulping down coffee to wash it away. "So…. Where…is…Dad?" Sam asked slowly, with perfect pronunciation.

"He left this morning." Dean reached a hand over and rested it against Sam's arm, comforting eyes gazing at his little brother.

"DDDDaddd leleleft?" Sam stammered out, sitting the cup down with a thud, liquid sloshing out around the edges to the table. He blinked owlish eyes at Dean, stunned that his father had just left without as much as goodbye. _Hadn't they had a good thing going here? Hadn't he been good, not fighting with his Dad? Wasn't this finally a home, a place all their own? _

Sam abruptly yanked his arm away from his brother. "You…you…you sh...Should...ha.have WO...wok...woke mmmmee up." Sam stuttered, as he pushed back away from the table and stood, angry grey eyes piercing at Dean.

"Sam, you know how Dad is….com'on…" Dean offered in his own defense. He watched as his little brother's eyes misted over and he blinked excessively, then turned and stomped from the kitchen.

**-O-**

Sam sat limply on the bed, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. _He was such an idiot. He should have known his Dad wouldn't stay here. What was wrong with him? Why was he crying, he knew his Dad, and he knew the hunt was all consuming and more important than him. He was never going to get normal, unless he left, left this life, this hunt, his Dad and his brother. He just didn't know if he could ever do that, leave Dean. _ He pulled his hands up and wiped the tears away, shuffling around the room and grabbing up some clothes. _He needed to get away before his concerned older brother came to check on him. Shower, he would take a shower_ .

Dean waited a few minutes, then stood and followed his brother down the hallway, glancing slowly around the corner of the bedroom doorway. He could see Sam moving around the room, grabbing up clothes.

"Sam?" he questioned, as he leaned against the doorframe.

"I. I'm ta...taking a sh sho...wer." Sam muttered and pushed past Dean to the bathroom.

Dean could see the tear stains on Sam's face, the slump in his shoulders, and the defeated expression in his eyes. He knew he could push it, make Sam talk, but he wasn't sure if that was the thing to do. _Sam needed to realize that they were never having the apple pie life he wanted. Unfortunately, Sam needed a dose of reality. _

-O-

Sam stood in the shower, water cascading warm rivers down his body, easing the tension that was tight in his neck. Silent tears mixed with the water and plummeted to the porcelain. _He wanted more than this life; he wanted a home, a family, a real job. _ _Now he knew, knew with all his heart that he had to escape this way of life, get out, before he became the same thing his father was, an obsessed, egotistical, idiot. _

Dean gazed at the closed bathroom door, listening to the low heaving that was intermingled with the running water. _He knew Sam was crying. _ He really wished he could change things, but he knew that he couldn't. _He wished Sam would just relent, embrace this life, like he had. _ He slid down to the floor, his back against the wall, legs and feet resting on the nasty carpet. He gazed at the opposite wall blankly and gave a light sigh. He banged the back of his head against the hard wooden wall and let it rest there, eyes staring up at the ceiling. _This was their life, and that was it. Once Sam graduated from high school, he would be a full time hunter, just like their Dad, just like Dean. He would see this life wasn't so bad. He would understand._

11


	12. Chapter 12

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Thanks to my Beta: ** Kokoda2007 …who rocks!! I was loosing my focus with this story, but she just encouraged me and got me right back on track. I still have to admit, any mistakes you find, are unfortunately my own.

**Chapter 12**

**Never Going to Change**

The ride to the doctor's office was silent, Sam looking forlornly out the windshield, mind wondering back to the last four weeks, his Dad, his brother. His brain rehashed every moment from the car accident, to the fact that he couldn't get his thoughts to form words, the intense therapy, and the home his Dad had voluntarily found for them to stay in. The last thought made him smile. He longed for that part to never end, the perfect little family in the clapboard house. The family life he had always wanted.

He shuffled lower on the bench seat, tugging his coat up around his ears, long hair covering his face from his older brother. He would never understand his father's relentless drive to avenge their mother's death, to hunt down the demon that had killed her. He wanted to. Dean and Dad remembered Mary Winchester and loved her in a way that he had never been able to. He only had the memories that his dad and brother gave him. Their brief words, pictures, and thoughts the only mother he had ever known. He tried to make them his own, to take comfort in them, to cling to them, but as he grew older, the topic of their mother had came up less, and the empty space he felt had grown wider. His Dad had an obsession to right the injustice that was done against his wife; his brother had the love and memories of his mom, and he; he had nothing. This was his Dad's fight, it was Dean's fight, but, in his heart, he wasn't really sure if it was his.

**-O-**

Dean's fingers tapped nervously against the steering wheel, his eyes darting from the road to his downcast little brother. _Damn his Dad's ass._ It would take him three days worth of coaxing to get Sam out of this funk. He understood his Dad's restlessness, his need to get back to the hunt. _Hell, he felt that way too._ But, taking care of his brother was the priority here. Sam came first. Sam always came first. His Dad should have at least talked to Sam before he left. _He regretted that now, he should have pushed that issue._

**-O- **

Doctor Howell gazed at the gloomy looking young man in front of him. _Something felt off with this kid today?_ He noticed right off that Sam seemed down, not quite focusing on him, or anything else for that matter. Definitely not the enthusiastic kid he had seen in recent weeks. _The kid's thoughts were obviously miles away from here. _

"So how are you doing Samuel?" the doctor asked as his hands probed and prodded Sam's broken arm, his mending ribs, and checked his eyes for any residual problems from his head injury. He waited conspicuously for a response from the lad, but none was forthcoming. He nodded his head at his young patient, "Have you been doing your speech therapy?"

Sam's head rose and sad eyes gazed at the doc. "Yes." A blunt answer darted from his lips. He sighed, and then looked back at his hands.

The doctor frowned, and eased the cold stethoscope down Sam's t-shirt, quietly taking in the even thumps of Sam's heartbeat. He wrapped the stethoscope around his neck, fingers grasping up some flashcards from the table and holding them in front of Sam's face.

"Can you read these to me, please?"

Sam's head lifted slowly and he gazed at the cards. "Car, Dog, Purple, Market, tele...telephone, cho…co...Choco...late, chocolate…"

Sam's eyes focused intently on the next card and he raised his hand to rub at his forehead, frown decorating his lips. _Oh great, sentences._

"Wh...Where are we? Can I go with y..you? My name is…" He rolled his eyes at the doctor in an agitated motion. "My name is Sam." _Isn't the doctor just too funny?_

"Good job, try to work the rest of these out, while I talk to your brother."

_Whatever…._ Sam heaved out a heavy breathe.

The doctor eased the cards into Sam's lap as he pushed his stool back and stood. He nodded toward Dean and the hallway.

Dean followed him from the room, eyes gazing back at his little brother who didn't seem to be putting any effort into the large stack of cards the doctor had placed in his hands.

"What's going on with Sam?" the doctor asked inquisitively.

"Our Dad had to go out of town, he left today." Dean shrugged slightly at the glare that rose in the man's dark eyes.

"I told your Dad…." He tugged his frustrated hand through his black hair, "I told your Dad, that first week, that any anxiety would only impede Sam's improvements." The doctor hissed as he looked back through the doorway at the slumping youth.

Dean's eyebrows arched up in concern, "You did? He never told me that."

The doctor whipped his head around to face Dean. "It's only been a few weeks, not months. Sam is in a very difficult place right now, and he needs all the support he can get. I told your Dad all of this…"

"I…I didn't know. Obviously, my Dad …." Dean huffed out a breath of air as he peered at the doctor. _Damn it Dad._

"I knew I should have talked to you. I had a feeling from day one; I knew who looked out for Sam. I should have stuck with my instincts." The doctor shook his head, and then looked over at Sam.

"So what do you mean, it could impede Sam's improvements?" Concern etched up in Dean's tone as he eyed the doctor curiously.

"He has to want to improve. He has to have desire to get better. If he slows down on his therapy, quits putting forth the effort, he will regress. This is not a quick fix, it is a long term goal…I told your father, Sam needs consistent therapy, support, and encouragement." The doctor eyed Dean with concern.

"I thought? He was doing okay. I thought….?" Dean squirmed under the man's glare.

"Look, I'm just telling you, Sam's attitude is 85 percent of the battle. He has to stay positive."

"He'll be fine. I work with him everyday." Dean wasn't sure if he was reassuring the doctor, or himself. His lips pursed in a firm line as his head bobbed at the doctor.

The physician turned and paced quickly back to Sam. "Okay Sam, you're doing great. You just keep up the therapy. I'll see you next week." His large hand came up and patted Sam lightly on the shoulder.

Brown bangs bounced across Sam's face hiding his features as he slid slowly off the examination table, the cards thumping lightly to the cold metal. His eyes never rose from the floor to the doctor, or his brother, as he as he eased his way past them both and out the door.

Dr. Howell's head turned gradually, face following Sam's exit from the room. A scowl appeared on his lips. "You have to make him talk, ask him questions, keep him motivated." The physician's eyebrows arched up in an apprehensive glare at Dean.

"I got it covered, Doc." Dean moved around the man and out the door, following his brother to the doorway. He turned on his heels and spoke resolutely to the doctor. "We'll see you next week." His face firm, his eyes conveying the message _'I'll take care of him'_ as he headed toward the car.

**-O-**

The heavy doors creaked loudly as the both Winchester's slid into the front seat of the Impala. Dean rested his crossed arm on the top of the steering wheel and turned to look at his brother. _Keep him talking…._

"Hey, let's get some lunch before we go back to the house." Dean reached his hand over and lightly punched his kid brother in the arm. "So what do you want?" _Make him talk. Ask him questions_ . _._

Sam's eyes darted up to his brother as his shoulders shrugged up in a 'whatever' motion, making no effort to respond to Dean. His father's voice echoed in his head. _. _ _"Sammy is a liability….always whining, complaining…." If he was a liability before the accident, he was damn sure one now. _

"Sam, what do you want? Sam? Dean asked again, inquiring eyes glaring at his brother. _Make him talk. Ask him questions_ . "I asked you a question, and we're not moving until you answer me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "B...bur..ger." he muttered as he stared out the front windshield.

Dean turned over the ignition and eased out of the parking lot. "And what else?" Dean encouraged the conversation, "Come on kiddo, what you want with that burger?"

Sam glanced over to see a wisp of a grin curling up on Dean's lips. "Fffries….I...wwa...nt fries." Sam stuttered as he slowly smiled at his brother. W_hat would he do without Dean? _

**-O- **

Dean's eyes blinked open. _What was that ringing noise? _ He turned his head on the pillow and glared at the clock. _4:00 a.m.? _ The cell phone continued to ring and realization dawned on his sleepy brain. He quickly grabbed the phone off the table and threw back the blankets, eyes darting to his brother, as his feet hit the carpet. Sam was still asleep, long legs sprawled across the bed, face snuggled into the pillow. Dean moved hastily from the bedroom and eased the door shut as he flipped open the phone.

"Dad?" Dean was awake now, as a slight anger revitalized and pumped through his veins. _Damn his dad, he'd left them over a week ago, and never once called to check on Sam. He had watched as his little brother called their Dad numerous times, his phone rolling to voice mail. _

"Dean…" His dad blurted out hastily. Dean could feel anxiety rolling through the phone.

"You didn't call Sammy, Dad, he waited all day, several days actually. He's called you over and over." Dean listened to dead air, no response from his father, only a low barely audible sigh through the static of the phone line.

_John choose to ignore that remark, he didn't have time for this._ "Dean, I need your help son. I'm in Lakeview, Missouri."

John's stern military voice pounded in Dean's ear. _He's ignoring what I just said…son of a bitch._

"But Dad….I don't think Sammy's ready."

"Dean, people are dying here. It's not up for discussion." His dad said firmly.

"But…" Dean wasn't sure about this, Sammy was still trying to get through therapy and his Dad just leaving the prior week, without a goodbye or the phone call he promised, all those things combined had certainly not helped the situation.

"Dean, I'm giving you an order, put Sam in the car and get here. Lakeview Inn, it's just outside of town on Highway 99.**" ** I need help, got multiple spirits here. Dean? You hear me son?"

"Yes sir." Dean huffed out, annoyance evident in his tone.

The phone line went dead…

Dean smacked his cell phone shut. He blew out an angry huff of air and turned to go wake up his sleeping brother. _He wasn't so sure about this. He was worried. Was Sam ready to hunt? His brother still had trouble talking; stuttering when he was upset or nervous….Always the hunt… the freaking hunt…his Dad always helping others….he was never going to change._

8


	13. Chapter 13

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta:** Once again, big thanks to Kokoda2007. Without her insight, this story would never have gotten this far.

**Chapter 13**

**Pushing too Hard**

The silence in the Impala was suffocating and Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and harder with each deafening minute. His eyes darted across the seat to his little brother, who had not said more than two sentences the entire trip to Lakeview, Missouri. The lack of conversation made the trek seem like days instead of hours. Dean had tried the first half of the trip, hoping to get any words to escape his brother's lips. He finally gave up about 3 hours back, when he realized that Sam was obviously not going to talk anytime soon. He reined in his tepid anger at his father as it simmered just below the surface. _If his Dad would just put Sam first…_ ._He was going to have a long talk with Dad when they got to Lakeview; that was for freaking sure. _

**-O-**

John heard the Impala roll into the parking lot and pushed away from the table and his paperwork. He stood, stretching his arms up high above his head and popping his joints. He had been sitting, researching, and waiting for his boys all day. The hunt for three ghosts, not one, causing him to halt his tactics and finally realize he needed help on this one. He had hoped it was just a simple salt and burn, but found research that indicated it was three poltergeists, and things suddenly got complicated. He aimed to do them one at a time, dig up himself, salt um and burn um. That thought had been banished when he discussed it with Bobby, who had traced them back to a triple hanging of three men in the early 1800's. Bobby stressed that all three must be salted and burned together, as they went in life, so they must go in death. He recalled Bobby's brisk words, "John, you need someone to help you…that's all, and that's it. Can't take a chance, three against one, not very good odds." So, John had relented, asking Bobby to come help. Unfortunately, Bobby was already knee deep in a hunt for a Rip-a-jack outside of Grass Moss, Louisiana. So, as a last resort, he had called his boys. _Definitely, not the best idea, with Sam still recovering and all, but the only one he had. Hell, people were dying, he had to stop it. _

John shuffled to the motel doorway and slung it open, the crisp evening air biting at his face as the sun fell behind the trees. A cold breeze blew out of the north and gave him cause to shiver, but he stood his ground and glared out at the lone black car pulling in next to his Chevy. He watched as Dean bounded out of the car, a mass of pure energy. _Obviously, Dean had drunk more than enough caffeine for the day. _ He smirked, and let his eyes shift slowly across to his youngest. Sam seemed to be moving sluggishly out of the passenger door, rubbing absently at his newly uncast arm as he followed Dean to the trunk to retrieve his duffle.

"Glad you two got here." John ripped the duffle from Sam's shoulder. "Here, let me take that Sammy."

Sam glanced briefly up as his father unexpectedly removed the duffle from his hand. He moved silently into the room without looking at his dad. John's eyebrows arched up in a questioning gaze at his eldest as Dean all but bounced into the room.

"So, tell us what we're doing here Dad….." Dean's wide eyes darted around the room as he scuffled from one foot to the other. "Got any coffee?" Dean grinned at his father.

"Nope." John sat Sam's bag firmly to the floor with a thud, grabbed up the coffee pot and quickly poured the hot liquid down the drain. "Think you've had enough today, son."

Dean rolled his eyes at his father suspiciously than turned and gawked at Sam; his kid brother was actually smiling. _Kid ain't smiled all damn day, but get Dad poking fun at me and there it is….amazing…._

A grin curled up on Sam's lips as he listened to his Dad speaking at his older brother. He shuffled slowly over to one of the beds and flopped down against the ratty blanket.

"Sam, get some rest, we hunt later." John's voice permeated his ears, his head moved in a slight yes motion as he drifted off quickly to sleep.

**-O- **

Sam could hear the angry words outside the motel room as he tugged the pillow tighter and nuzzled into it, attempting to drown out the fiery argument. They had arrived in Lakeview right at dusk, John instructing him to get some rest before the hunt. He hadn't said anything, only nodded lightly to his Dad and flopped boneless on the furthest bed, letting his eyes shut out the world around him. But, then it had started, the whispers, the mutters, and eventually, the motel door opening and slamming against the doorframe as his father and Dean exited the room. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear, wanted to sleep, but their shouting was not an easy sound to drown out.

"But Dad, he's not ready…you should have told me what the doctor said…you need to stop pushing…"

"Damn it, Dean, I know what's best for my boy, you boys. You can't keep babying him. Sam has to accept his limitations and work through them." John's angry glare radiated across the sidewalk to his eldest, who stood arms crossed defiantly, gazing harshly at his father.

"He was trying, Dad, you saw it, but then you took it upon yourself to leave, right when he needed us, needed you." Dean's eyebrow quivered as he attempted to keep his anger in check, his voice low in the dark night air. He shifted on the soles of his boots and pushed his clenched fists into his coat pocket.

"As usual, Sam needs to take things more seriously." John's tone was abrupt, and Dean felt his own anger turning up a notch. "He was a liability before the accident, his attitude, all his complaining, and now? Son, we can't let him use this as a crutch. He has to buck up. Accept it, and move on."

"I know…but….lets just let him stay here." Dean offered, his blue eyes pleading with his father for understanding. "We can do this hunt, the two of us. No need to take Sam…."

"No Dean, Sam has to do this for himself. Sides, it is three poltergeists that have to be burned simultaneously."

Dean paced from the bumper of his father's truck to the front of the Impala and back, anxiety brimming from his pores. He tugged his weary hand through his hair and gazed at the flickering stars in the sky. _This was freaking pointless, there was no talking any sense into John Winchester, hard headed son of a bitch…. _

**-O- **

Sam dug his fingers into the pillow, nails clawing at the case as his fathers blunt words reverberated through his head. _He was a liability before the accident, his attitude, all of his complaining. _ He gripped the pillow harshly between his fingers and flung it against the wall. _If he was a liability then, what was he now, stuttering and fumbling to say what he wanted?_ His feet thudded against the carpet as he moved hastily to the bathroom. The tears brimmed in his eyes as he abruptly slammed shut the door and let his feet slide out along the cold tile, back easing downward against the wooden door. The muffled voices of his brother and dad were barely audible to his ears, as the tears rolled slowly down his face. He heard his brother come back into the room and harshly plop down on his bed, he heard his father fumbling with the door and easing into the chair, boots banging against the shaky table. He sucked in some air, wiped his sleeve across his damp face and opened the bathroom door. He tiptoed in the darkness back to his bed. He eased slowly to the mattress and pulled the musty blanket to cover his face. His fathers' voice echoing in his head, he heard his brother's light whisper, 'Night Sammy'.

**-O- **

It was just after 2:00 in the morning and the sky was black and moonless. The three orbs of light jumped along the weeds and grass of the cemetery, momentarily pausing on every headstone, then moving quickly to the next.

"Okay, boys, we're looking for Thomas, James, and Mark Avalon, the three ghosts that are killing people in this town." John's voice mumbled low across the cold night air. "We have to find um, dig um up, burn um, all at the same time, or it won't be pretty, huh Sam?" His arm grasped his youngest, eyes resting on his face. Sam offered no response, and tugged away.

Dean's head rose, and he glared at his father, 'I told you so' written all over his face.

John's eyebrows arched up in a scowl as he looked at his oldest, then, watched as Sam moved away from him. _Maybe Dean was right? Was he pushing too hard?_

Sam stood silently, flashlight blaring down on the three headstones his father was looking for. He heard scuffling coming up behind him and turned to see his brother looking over his shoulder.

"They're here, Dad." Dean motioned for his father with his light, and eased his shovel off his shoulder. _He still didn't think this was a good idea; Sam's arm was just now out of the cast from the accident. He wasn't talking much…._

"Okay, dig, but don't open the graves 'til we're all ready." John spoke sternly as he looked at his boys. He flung his coat off and pushed his own shovel into the dirt, pushing and breaking up the ground, throwing it silently over his shoulder.

Dean eased out of his jacket and tossed it to the grass. He dug his shovel into the damp ground. He watched Sam out of the corner of his eye, his brother digging very slowly, tending to stop between motions and rub at his previously broken arm. _Dean frowned and dug faster. He would just finish up his grave and then help Sammy._

John's shovel hit the top of the wooden casket within minutes, the sweat sitting heavily against his brow. He leaned on his shovel, gulped in a large breath and glanced across at his sons. _What the shit._

Sam was standing on the edge of the grave he had started to dig, brow furrowed as he looked down at his older brother, who was digging frantically in the hole.

"Dean, what are you doing?" John asked abruptly, eyes moving up to his youngest with a questioning gaze.

Dean's head bobbed up out of the grave and gawked across at his Dad. "Helping Sam." He said smugly, and continued to dig.

"Damn it Sammy, don't let your brother dig two graves. What's wrong with you?" Johns face was flanked with amazement.

Sam blinked nervously at his Dad, stuttering words attempting to escape his lips. "He…he. I…I…was...d…doing it, but…but he..."

John rolled his eyes and watched as Dean eased out of the grave and nodded to his kid brother. "There you go Sammy."

Sam's feet thudded lightly back into the grave, eyes darting from his Dad to Dean. Eagerly wanting to escape his Dad wrath, he let his eyes drop quickly down to the casket.

Dean just shrugged at his father and let his feet plummet back into the grave he had previously dug. "He just got his cast off Dad."

"Dean, we talked about this…" John's voice quivered as he spoke to his eldest.

"Yea…I know." Dean's eyes rolled as he focused back on the wooden casket at his feet. "Are we doing this, or what?" _He knew his cocky voice was pissing his father off further, but, right now, he didn't give a shit. _

John stood stock still for a second, anger brimming just below the surface. "Go" he stated flatly as he used excessive force to bang the shovel against the wood beneath his feet.

The wind picked up and blew harshly against their faces as all three men rapidly broke through the wooden caskets.

"Gasoline…NOW." John yelled as he whipped the container from his pocket and doused the bones in front of him. He could hear the sounds of his boys, both doing the same thing at a fast pace in the graves next to him.

He heard the sound of matches sizzling around him and one of his boys muttered something, but he didn't have time to listen, or figure out which one it was. The flames consumed his matchbook as he dropped it against the bones and darted out of the grave.

Sam heard his brother next to him, Dean's voice tense as he fumbled in his pockets for matches. "Where's my freaking matches…" _Jacket, jacket, put'm in my jacket. _ "Son of a bitch…."

Dean's voice trailed off as the wind rose to a high pitched wail.

_What, Dean ….no matches….Shit._ Sam hurriedly flung his own flaming matches against the raggedy bones below him and wind milled out of the hole, eyes darting hastily over to his older brother. He grasped the extra matches he had in his coat pocket and focused on Dean.

"D…D….Dean…" Sam yelled as he flung the book from his fingers toward his brother, hoping he was fast enough.

He felt the cold dampness of pressure against his neck as he blinked against the white swirl of nothingness that weaved in front of him. He gasped as he struggled to pull in air, icy fingers clutching at his throat. He heard his father yelling something as he was picked up and thrown through the darkness. He felt the breeze hastily blowing his hair and then the loud thud of his head against something hard. He blinked momentarily as his body went limp, and the velvety blackness claimed him.

13


	14. Chapter 14

**Adrift**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Big thanks to my Beta Kokoda2007...she rocks!!**

**Chapter 14**

**Strong Enough?**

The next moments were a blur to John Winchester, his feet moving quickly across the weeded dirt, one hand reaching out and pushing his son down against the damp grass; his other hand tugging up the rifle leaning against the headstone and pulling the trigger. The salt blast permeated the apparition floating just above the grave. He heard the slight yelp from his boy as his head surely hit something, and he cringed to himself, knowing his son had plummeted to the cold wet ground not ten feet behind him. _Son of a bitch. _ He yanked extra matches haphazardly from the pocket of his discarded coat and flung the sizzling flame into the grave. The ghost wailing and screeching as it disappeared in a white whiff of smoke.

Sam's heart thudded loudly in his chest. He watched, mesmerized as his older brother was grabbed around the throat by the wavering form above the grave. The matchbook he had tossed toward Dean fell on top of the dirt as his brother clutched his fingers up around his neck. He watched in wide eyed horror as his brother was hoisted high from the grave and flung harshly through the air and disappeared behind him. His eyes darted up toward the mist that was now hovering just above him. Momentarily, he heard his father's stern voice and was shoved backwards with excessive force. He felt his feet teetering below him as his butt hit the hard ground with a thud. The sound of a shotgun firing and the wailing of the ghost screeched in his ears. He blinked slowly. His muddled mind rushed to catch up to the moment. _Dean?_

John's fingers reached down and gripped the arm of his youngest, concerned gaze giving his pale son the once over as he patted him hastily on the shoulder. "Stay right here, I got to check on your brother." John scurried quickly away, making a beeline for his oldest.

"D…D..ean?" Sam's head turned around in slow motion, falling to the still form of his big brother. He pushed himself to his wobbly feet, stumbling over the uneven grown to move closer to his father's location at Dean's side.

"He's okay, Sam, just a goose bump on the back of his head." John's fingers gently assessed the damage, his voice reassuring to Sam's worried glare. "No blood, that's good."

Sam shifted down closer to the ground, hunched over his brother, eyes attempting to see Dean's face clearly. He wobbled and put his hand hastily down by Dean's shoulder to keep from tottering over.

"Dean." John patted his boy lightly on the cheek, attempting to draw him back to awareness.

Dean's eyes rolled slowly open, and he looked groggily up at his father and Sam. "Dad?" He whispered as his eyelashes fluttered leisurely against his cheeks.

The sudden adrenaline rush decided to leave Sam's fatigued body and he weaved in his shoes. One knee fell heavily against the damp ground, his fingers grasping at the blades of grass underneath him. His body leaned involuntarily over, falling against his Dad's shoulder.

"Sit down Sammy, before you fall over." John's hand tugged Sam downward to the grass next to his semi-conscious sibling. _Obviously, Sam wasn't strong enough for this hunt…Dean was right._

"Sam…'kay?" Dean looked weakly at his brother as he attempted to push himself up on his shaky arms.

Sam gazed at Dean and whispered. "I…I'm fine..."

Sam shook his head lightly. He couldn't hear his words against the loud humming that was now rushing though his head. He blinked slowly as he watched his father taking care of his brother.

John pulled his flashlight from his shirt pocket, as one firm hand gripped Dean's chin tightly and held his face steady. He darted the light beam across his son's line of vision.

Dean flinched and struggled to move his head from his Dad's demanding grip.

"Stop it Dean….well, shit, you got a concussion."

John's flashlight dropped back in his pocket as he gulped in some air, "Okay…okay…" His eyes looked from Dean to Sam as he attempted to gain control of the situation. _Boys, hurt, car._

"Naw…no concussion….I'm f...f...fine." Dean garbled toward his father as he swayed lightly, weak arms attempting to hold him up, but causing him to waver like the wind.

"Come on; let's get you both back to the car. I'll come back for the gear." John said as he reached downward and hoisted both his boys to stand.

Sam flinched away from his father's strong grip and firmly planted his feet on the ground; his tired body swayed minutely where he stood. _He was okay; it was Dean they needed to worry about._

Dean's hands flopped against John's chest. "I can walk…" Dean tilted abruptly, and John's firm hand grabbed his arm to steady him.

"No Dean, you can't, not by yourself." His father's unyielding tone made Dean jerk his head up and he suddenly looked very confused. "I think I hit my head?"

"No kidding Einstein." John held Dean steady before again grabbing his youngest by the elbow and forcing him back against his side, his vice grip on both boys relentless as he led them slowly toward the car.

**-O-**

The brief ride from the cemetery back to the motel room was done in complete silence. Dean's head leaned against the passenger window. His father's anxious face roaming over to him ever few minutes, making sure he wasn't sleeping.

"Dean, stay a wake son." John touted as he pushed the gas pedal closer to the floorboard.

Dean turned his head and stared blankly at his Dad. "I hit my head?" Dean said again, his heavy lids blinking slowly.

"Yes son, you hit you're head." John said gently.

John eyed the dash mirror and took a fleeting look at his youngest. Sam was curled up in a small ball on the back seat, long legs squashed up underneath him, arms curled in tightly around his waist, head leaning against the side window. Sam was gazing groggily toward the front seat and his brother. His face was drawn of all color, and John detected a light shiver racking his frame.

John's jaw clenched and he managed somehow to tear his eyes away from Sam's glazed ones, forcing them back to the road. He unconsciously chewed on his lower lip. _He shouldn't have taken Sammy. He should have waited…freaking mess, not one sick son, but two. _ The car picked up speed as he moved to get his boys back to the motel where he could tend to them.

**-O-**

The air in the Impala was thick like a fog. _Or was that in Sam's own head? _ Dots of moisture were forming against his forehead, dampening his bangs and sticking them to his face. _He was so tired. _ He tugged his arms tighter around him and gazed forward to his older brother who was slumped in the front seat, watching Dean's eyes flutter. _His own eyes were burning._ He heard his father imploring Dean to stay awake, and he vaguely heard his older sibling mumble a reply. _He needed to stay awake, take care of Dean._ He drifted. _Dad's here, its okay._ The light rumble of the Impala and the humming pulling him toward nothingness as he floated in a feverish state of mind.

**-O- **

The black Chevy skidded to a stop in front of the Lakeview Inn, John Winchester leaning across the seat and staring into his oldest son's face.

"Dean, we're here. I'm coming around to help you get inside. Okay?"

"I'm good, Dad." Dean's head wobbled slightly and he brought his hand up to his temple to steady it. His incoherent eyes darted toward the back seat. "Get Sammy first."

John's intense face turned slightly to the back seat and a sleeping Sam. "Sam?" He reached his strong arm over the bench seat and caressed his boy's cheek. _Shit, he's got a fever. _ "He's asleep Dean, you first." John's tone stern, authoritative, insuring Dean would do as he requested.

"Sam okay?" Dean whipped his head around with a light groan and squinted at his little brother.

"Yeah, let him sleep son." John pushed the driver's door open and heard his boots crunching on the gravel as he yanked open the passenger door and pulled his oldest to his feet.

Dean swayed slightly, his head lolling into his Dad's shoulder, but then, he moved his hands to John's chest and pushed his body up, attempting to stand solidly on his own two feet. "I got it."

John rolled his eyes and pulled him back against him. "Let me help you Dean, before you do a face plant on the gravel."

"Humph…" Dean relented and let his father ease him through the motel doorway and down against a musty bedspread. Dean released a weary breathe and fumbled around to lie on his back on the blankets.

"Okay, I'll be right back. Got to get Sammy." John acknowledged with a nod of his head as he scurried back out into the darkness.

"'K…" Dean mumbled, his hand coming up to rub at his blurry eyes. _Two John Winchesters? Whoa, that was one too many. _ He snickered to himself and then shook his head against the stiff pillow, trying to eliminate the cobwebs. _He could just take a nap, and he'd be all better._ He let his heavy lids fall closed.

John leaned in across the Chevy and pushed Sam's damp bangs off of his forehead. "Sammy?" he whispered lightly. Sam's eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and feverish.

"D...Dad", he asked inquisitively. _He was so cold. _ His body gave an obvious shiver that did not go unnoticed by his Dad.

"Come one Sam, let's get you inside." John looked with concern at his boy. _He looks worse than I thought?_

"O…Kay." Sam's arms reached out for the door and he pushed up to his feet.

John gripped Sam's arm when his youngest wobbled on weak knees, white knuckling the door with a vengeance. _Don't think he's getting there on his own steam._

Sam grabbed a large clump of his father's shirt and gripped it tightly, as he swayed. "D…D...ad…" Sam's voice was low as he tilted weakly into his father.

"I gotcha." John's large arms tugged beneath Sam's knees, and clutched tightly around his boys' back as he whipped him in one quick motion up against him, carrying him like the five year old he remembered from long ago.

"D…D..aaaaadddd?" Sam's voice was exasperated as his arms flailed weakly against his father. The fever gripped him tightly and his mind fogged over. _He remembered this._ He slowly felt his entire body slump down toward his Dad's chest. _Is Dad carrying me….why am I so tired?_

John moved, hauling his boy into the motel room and placing him gently on the bed. _He couldn't remember the last time he had done this. _

Dean's eye's darted open as he heard his father enter the room. He gazed toward the doorway and immediately saw Sammy was not moving on his own. He quickly swung his legs over the bed, his shoes hitting the carpet. The room spun violently with the motions, as three John Winchester's carried Sammy's to the beds. _Whoa….Dizzy _ Dean's hands clutched at the blankets beneath his fingers, attempting to hold himself steady as his eyes scrunched closed and he wobbled and swayed against the mattress.

"He's fine Dean, just a little fever, that's all." John tugged off Sam's shoes and pulled a cover up around him, tucking it against his chin.

Sam blinked slowly. His head rolled to the side and he gazed at his swaying brother. "I'm...t...tired." he said with a weak smile.

Dean felt John's firm hand on his shoulder. "Dean, I've got it taken care of. Just lie down son, you need to rest. A concussion is nothing to play around with." He pushed Dean back to the bed, tugged off his boy's boots and pulled another blanket up to cover him.

Dean's eyes closed briefly, but then blinked back open, never leaving his now dozing sibling. He watched as his father moved quickly around the room, forcing an incoherant Sammy to take three Tylenol, and placing a damp rag on his forehead. John then turned back to look at Dean.

"Okay, son, you happy now? Here, you take these Tylenol and get some rest." John helped him to ease back up and swallow the Tylenol with some tap water. "How's the head feel?"

"Like I hit something." Dean's lips snarled up in a slight grin, but then frowned as he watched Sam moving around on the other bed.

John's eyebrows arched up in concern. He watched as Sam struggled in his feverish state, moving restlessly beneath the covers. He gazed from his youngest to his oldest, looking intently at Dean. "Want to sleep over there? Might be better, you know…?" Concerned eyes said pleadingly. "Sides, I need a bed too."

Dean knew it was just a ploy, by John Winchester, to allow him permission to sleep next to Sam. Sam always slept better when Dean was nearby, giving him security and a feeling of comfort.

"Sure." Dean smiled feebly and allowed his father to grip him at the elbow and ease him over to the other bed, next to Sam. _Damn, he was weak as a kitten, and dizzy, so dizzy._

John reached to grab the blanket from the opposite bed and was surprised when he turned back to cover Dean. Sam had unconsciously turned into his older brother, nuzzling his head up against Dean's shoulder, Dean shifting and easing his arm up and around his brother's sleeping form. Sam's fingers had twisted lightly into Dean's tee shirt as he eased off into deep sleep. _It was amazing to see how relaxed Sam became in his brother's presence._ John towed the blanket up over his concussed son, Dean smiling evenly up at him as his eyes dragged slowly shut.

"Night son, I'll wake you in two hours…." John whispered, a small smile decorating his face.

15


	15. Chapter 15

**Adrift**

**By Supernaturaldh**

**Beta: Kokoda2007 - ** Thank you so much for all your help with this, there are now words to tell you what a great job you did. You gave me guidance, and pushed me to continue when I was at a total standstill. You are the bestest!!

**Authors Note: ** Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story. It started out as a one shot, then took on a life all it's own. You guys rock!!

**Chapter 15**

**It could be Different**

John Winchester eased his tired body down on the rough bedspread, leaning his back and shoulders up against the headrest. The sun was easing through the threadbare curtains as the darkness rolled away to bring on a new day. _It had been a long night._ He tugged the cup of lukewarm coffee to his lips as he gazed at his sleeping sons. _How had it come to this? All he ever wanted was for his boy's to be safe. Once again, he had let his obsession drive his reckless behavior._ He mentally scolded himself. _"He had botched that up for the last sixteen and a half years…why would this time be any different?" _ He swallowed hard against the knot rising in his throat._ The problem wasn't with his sons', the problem was with him. _ He dug his fingers into his eye sockets, and rubbed back the dampness that was rising against his lids. _His obsessive need to avenge his wife's death had become all consuming, taken over his life. In his blind rage, he had forced his sons to become a part of it._ He sucked down another gulp of cold coffee, and grimaced. _He wasn't sure if it was the bad coffee, or the intense hatred he felt for himself that caused the frown to decorate his face. _ He knew, in his heart, it was too late for him to change, but it wasn't too late for his boys.

**-O-**

They had been resting a couple of hours, and John knew it was time to wake Dean again, make sure he was recovering from his abrupt meeting with the headstone. His oldest was adamant that he didn't have a concussion, but, John knew better. _Concussions were nothing to play around with._ His eldest had a way of deflecting attention from himself to his kid brother, something he had been doing since the day Sammy was born. This time was no exception. _Dean…when had his son became a better father than he was?_ He shook his own head in amazement as he watched his oldest boy sleep. _He _ _**had** _ _done something right…. _

Light murmuring on the far side of the room drew John's attention and his eyes darted over to rest on his youngest. Sammy moved among the blankets, weak hand fumbling around then pushing all of them promptly to a mound on the floor. He watched as his teenage son curled snuggly against his older sibling and slept on. John smiled. He stood slowly and sat his coffee to the nightstand, moving around to his sleeping boy. He reached the blankets from the floor and tossed them back over Sam. He eased down to sit against the bed. He gazed at Sam's flushed face and ran gruff fingers through his boy's damp bangs. _He feels cooler, that's good._ He was angry with himself for not listening to Dean with regards to Sam and hunting. He had pushed his youngest to help, and now he realized that Sam was still recovering from his car wreck, his broken arm, collapsed lung, and learning how to talk all over again. _What the hell was wrong with him? He could be such an idiot sometimes. God knows Sam had been through enough, still needing time to recover. _ He shuffled back around the bed, his large hand coming to rest against Dean's shoulder, giving him a light shake.

"Dean? Wake up son, look at me." He whispered his voice low and weary.

"Huh?" Dean's eyelids flitted open and he blinked groggily at his Dad.

"Okay, you can go back to sleep now." John gripped his tired son's shoulder tightly, and then released it as he tugged the blanket back up across Dean's chest.

"Gee thanks," Dean quirked sleepily, as his head rolled against the pillow.

_Okay, he was feeling better. _ John sat back against his own bed with a sneer.

Dean's eyes remained open as he glowered around the dimly lit motel room. His head fell downward to stare at the lump leaning up against his body. "How's Sam?" he questioned.

"He's fevers down. I think he just did too much."

"No shit…" Dean murmured, as his eyes slowly slid shut.

John's lips curled up and he eased back against the headrest. "You know, you were right son…I admit it, Sam needs more time to recover."

Dean tilted his head toward his Dad, large eyes roaming, and then resting on John's face.

"Holy crap, I can't believe it, did you just admit I was right?" Dean chuckled lightly, as a sharp pain pierced through his concussed head. He winced and brought his hand up to rub a small circle against his own temple. He slowly eased back down resting his forearm across his fatigued eyelids.

"Headache? Serves you right…smart ass." John smirked and shimmed further down on the squeaky mattress.

Dean's arm never moved as his lips curled up in a contented smirk.

"Go back to sleep." John scoffed as he punched at the flat pillow and eased his head down further against it. "I set my watch alarm for noon; we'll see how everyone is doing then."

John listened to Dean's breath evening out in sleep. He smiled silently to himself as he drifted off into nothingness.

**-O- **

The sound of retching tugged John's tired mind from his slumber, and he scrubbed his sluggish hand over his weary face. _Someone was getting sick in the bathroom._ He let his eyes dash toward the bed next to him. _No Dean?_ He flung his stiff legs from the mattress, his socked feet scuffing against the shaggy carpet as he half stumbled toward the bathroom door.

"Dean?" His flat hand pounded lightly against the door as his eyes traveled back to his youngest; a brown mop top head stuck beneath a large mound of blankets, oblivious to what was going on. "Son, are you okay in there?" He waited; let his eyes fall to his watch. _9:35 a.m. _ He sighed and leaned his forehead against the chipped wooden door. _Five more seconds and he was going in._ He heard the toilet flush and water running in the sink. "Dean?"

Suddenly, the door swung open, Dean swaying slightly with the motion. John's body fell forward as his prop was removed and he flung his hand up to brace himself against the doorframe. The pale, slightly green face of his oldest son blinked blankly in front of him.

"I got sick." Dean offered flatly, as he leaned his blond head into his father's shoulder for a second, and then pushed past him and trudged heavily back toward the bed.

John's hand reached over to Dean's elbow and helped him ease back down on the mattress.

"Drugs?" Dean whispered weakly as his eyes queried at his Dad.

"Sure." John said gently, as he reached to the nightstand and popped the top off the pain meds, nudging lightly at Dean's hand. "Here you go." He handed his shaky boy a glass of tepid water from the night before and two pills, then watched as he washed the pills down with one large gulp, sat the half full glass to the nightstand, and closed his eyes, slumping limply against the pillow.

"Sammy?" Dean squinted back up at his Dad and then turned his head slowly to face his brother. "Jesus, Sammy, you under there somewhere?" Dean snarled as his weak hand moved blankets and sheets around trying to locate Sam beneath the excessive covers.

John moved around to the opposite side of the bed, gawking downward, his eyes roving the blankets for his youngest face.

Sam's flushed cheeks finally appeared from beneath the heap of covers, as Dean tugged the last of them from his brother's head. His sluggish eyes batted up at his Dad, then, his head bowed, cheek resting against Dean's shoulder blade, looking fuzzily at his brother.

"D…e…a.., s...stop it." Sam garbled as his fingers clutched the blankets from beneath Dean's hand and tugged them back against him. Dean's palm ghosted lightly over Sam's forehead and a frown decorated his own weary face.

"Still got a fever, Dad." Dean whispered, eyes clearing momentarily. He pushed his fingers slowly through Sam's long hair, letting it fall wildly back against the kids face. His brother's eyes fluttered closed. Dean pulled his hand down and let it rest on Sammy's arm, thumb rubbing gently across his brother's wrist.

"Hey Sam, how you feeling?" John leaned down closer to the mass of covers and hauled the blankets back, looking through the long hair at Sam's features.

Sam's feverish eyes rolled back open and he whimpered, then pulled away from his Dad's face. John placed his stern hand against Sam's forehead holding him steady and still against the pillow. Sam's eyes focused in on his Dad.

"Okay kiddo, you need some more tylenol." John's stern voice reached Sam's ears and he nodded slightly. "Yes..s…sir."

John took the Tylenol bottle from Dean's shaky fingers and palmed two out. He lifted them up and urged them past his son's pale lips. He took the glass of water from Dean's hand and lifted it to Sam's mouth.

Sam blinked at his Dad as he felt the cool liquid running down his throat. _That was good._ He gulped down the remaining fluid greedily, slurping when he reached the bottom of the glass.

"Don't let him have too much", Dean offered, as he laid his aching head back against the bed. "He throws up easily."

"Well dah..." John pulled the empty glass from his teenage son's lips, Sam's hand fumbling to grab a hold of it as it moved. "Nope, that's enough Sammy." John's large hand pushed his feverish son back to the bed, and tugged up the blankets around him.

Sam's head snuggled against Dean's neck, his eyes roaming slowly up to his brother's face, glazed orbs squinting at Dean. His lashes fluttered against his brother's cheek, and then his eyes drifted closed.

**-O-**

John shuffled from the Impala, several to go bags clutched tightly against his chest. The coke and ginger ale cups dangled from his fingers, room key clinched tightly between his teeth. He reached the motel door, and eyeballed the doorknob wishfully. He balanced the bags against his leg and shoved the key into the lock, fumbling momentarily, and then swinging the door open with his foot. He slung the bags to the rickety table and looked at the beds, Dean still resting quietly, cool rag across his forehead. _His son had a bad concussion, and it was going to take a few days for him to get back on his feet. _

John could hear the shower running and the mass of blankets on the floor indicated that Sammy had woken while he was gone. He eased out of his jacket and shoveled the take out food from the bags to the table. It was now dusk, and he should probably wake Dean to eat, but he knew his son needed the rest. He mulled it over for a second, and then placed his burger and fries back in the bag and stuck it in the microwave. _One of the two conveniences this grungy motel offered, microwave and coffee pot._ He blew on his cup of coffee as he eased himself down in the chair, and pulled the paper from around his burger. His eyes scurried up when he heard the bathroom door open and Sam appeared in a mass of steaming vapor, wet hair adorning his face, damp tee shirt and sweats sticking to his freshly showered body. _He looks seven, not seventeen. _

"Hey Sam," John muffled through a mouth of burger.

Sam gazed at his father, his hands trembling lightly as he stuffed his dirty clothes back into his duffle, pushing the bag to the carpet at his feet.

"I got you a soup and salad." John smiled at the surprised look that adorned his shaky son's face when he turned from the duffle bag. _Sam needs more time to rest, to recover from his injuries. John realized more than ever, his boy needed _ _**support ** _ _from his family, his brother, and_ _**from him** _ _._

Sam eased over and flopped in the chair across from his Dad, fingers reaching for the soup and salad.

"That's your ginger ale." He watched as his son opened the steaming soup and pulled the spoon from the bag. "So, how you feeling?"

Sam's eyes rose to meet his Dad's, he seemed to hesitate, and then stuttered, "B...b...etter."

"Good, good. You had me worried there…." John's voice trailed off uncomfortably as he stuffed the rest of the burger in his mouth, and washed it down with the brisk coffee. "Did Dean wake up while I was gone?"

"Y...Y...yes…f...for...a m...minute." Sam fumbled with the words and he laid the spoon to the table. He looked uncomfortably down at the floor. His face scrunched up in hard concentration as he tugged it back up to look at his Dad. "He's sleepin'."

_My boy's embarrassed, thinks I don't realize how hard this is for him. _ John looked keenly at his son. "You got your flash cards?" He grinned.

Sam eased backward in his chair, eyes staring brightly at his Dad.

"Well?" John slurped down the rest of his coffee and held his hand out in a 'give me' motion. "Giv'um here, I'll help you practice."

"Th..thats okay, you..you don't hav..have to." Sam whispered in a nervous fluster.

"Sam, let me help you." John glared gently at his son, heart beating loudly in his own chest. _Come on Sam; let me make this up to you, let me help you._

A warm smile eased up on Sam's face as his tense body relaxed, he stood, reaching back into his duffle and pulled out the flashcards. He dropped them hesitantly into his Dad's waiting fingers.

John held up the first card, and grinned at his boy. "Okay, what's this one?"

Sam rolled his large eyes at his father, "My name is Sam." He giggled lightly and grinned at his Dad.

John chuckled and flipped to the next card, intent on helping his boy as much, and for as long, as he needed it.

**-O- **

Dean heard the rustling of paper bags; he smelt the aroma of greasy hamburgers. _Food?_ His stomach grumbled. He could open his eyes and look, but he wasn't quite ready to pull himself from his slumber. _His stomach was still a little queasy_ . His headache had eased to a dull throbbing, the cool rag his father placed on his forehead helped immensely. He listened as his little brother opened the bathroom door; the clean smell of steam assaulted his senses. He heard his father's garbled greeting to Sam. _Better wake up and eat now, it might make him feel better. _ He was about to ease himself up when he heard the light conversation between his Dad and brother. He stopped his movements, and held his breath with each word. He listened as his father made the effort to be there for his brother, to help Sam. _Way to go Dad._ He heard Sam's nervous attempt to shrug his Dad off, then the relief in his brother's tone when he finally accepted his Dad's gesture. He listened attentively as they started reviewing the flashcards that Sam had not used in well over a week. His eyes never opened. He relaxed with their muffled voices and yawned. _He didn't want to intrude on Dad's time with Sammy._ He snuggled tighter into the pillow, their voices dimming into the background as exhaustion began to pull him under. He let their words roll over him; soothing him. He faintly heard Sam's giggles, and smiled, as he drifted back toward sleep. _Maybe everything would be okay._

**End!!**

12


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